


The Only Sane Man

by generalzero



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: AU, Ableism, Addiction, Angst, Depression, Dey and Peter are bros, Families of Choice, Feels, Gen, Heroes, Oh god, PTSD, Recovery, Saal is alive, Saal is not amused, Saal joins the team!, also Saal and Rocket are bros, and this is totally their fault, aromantic main character, but they don't admit it, disabled main character, guess who the title refers to, mental health, neither is Gamora, non-binary characters, written by a non-disabled person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 52,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4417787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generalzero/pseuds/generalzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denarian Saal does not know what to do after being forcibly retired from Nova Corps following his 'recovery' from the Battle of Xandar. The respectable option would be to move on, get a private piloting license, become a navigational consultant--anything other than the option he does take, namely: sulking in his flat, hiding from his therapist and frightening reporters.</p><p>But then Peter Quill comes along with a third option, and Saal can't tell if the 'Guardians of the Galaxy' are going to get him killed or if he's going to kill them out of frustration. All else aside, though, Saal is fairly sure that Quill's option is going to be more exciting than the other two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Saal caught my interest in the movie [and so did Nova Corps in general], so we are adding him—albeit reluctantly, kicking and screaming—to the team. Technically AU, but they didn't show a body and I’m in denial, so Saal is still alive.
> 
> My trigger/tagging/warning policy: I err on the side of caution. I tag and warn for things like ableism, depression/self-harm, arophobia, and the like even if I don’t think they’ll be “triggering” per say, because 1) I might be wrong, and 2) some days you just don’t need that kind of negativity in your life now matter how good the story is.
> 
> Updating policy: Notes: A chapter goes up as soon as it’s ready. The whole story is planned but not written, and so while real life may slow me down I will finish this. Reader interest and reviews help motivate me.
> 
> Rated for swearing and canon-typical violence. [I won’t warn for low-key violence or swearing but grossness and slurs will be tagged.] Enjoy and please review!
> 
> Disclaimer for entire fic: Marvel owns the Guardians of the Galaxy and they can take my money anytime they want.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denarian Garthan Saal didn’t have any next of kin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Welcome! In order to avoid TLDR, extended notes are at the end of each chapter, while warnings and important notices are up here.
> 
> Warnings: institutionalized ableism

Denarian Saal didn’t have any next of kin.

* * *

_“Nova Prime, we need your approval for extreme medical procedures for Denarian Garthan Saal.”_

_“By the stars, did you say Saal? He’s alive?”_

_“For the moment. But he has no listed next of kin and you’re the closest superior officer he’s got. Our chain of command’s all fu—um, messed up. Medical needs approval—”_

_“Yes, of course. Do whatever you have to.”_

* * *

Public records—and those became all-too-popular after the famous Battle for Xandar—listed very briefly two wealthy parents, an enlistment in the Nova Corps at seventeen, and a subsequent disownment by said parents. A look at the pertinent dates showed they occurred during that odd little period many cycles back where it had been fashionable to hate Nova Corps for some reason or other; gossip circles inferred that the enlistment prompted the disinheritance.

No further records of a personal nature—no marriages, custody deferments, etc. A casual grift through commercial databases revealed that he had surprisingly little presence on the net; a deeper one might pick up purchase orders and subscriptions from a variety of sources. Nothing shady, just eclectic. A few very curious souls went asking around fences, brothels, and other establishments of that nature and came up with nothing but hot air and general unwillingness to implicate so effective a corpsman in anything that might invite reprisal.

* * *

_“Are you fucking kidding? Nobody around here has any dirt on Saal, and they wouldn’t tell if they did. The bastard knows everything. I’m just glad he stopped working the streets a couple years back.”_

* * *

To all outside appearances, Denarian Saal was almost a non-entity outside the Corps. Even within the Corps, those who were not his direct superiors or subordinates often gossiped that while he might be very effective indeed, he was about as warm as a frost giant and as interesting as a hokey Terran satellite. The people who had worked with him, however, tended to be fond of him for some reason.

* * *

_“First combat mission, Dey?”_

_“Yes sir.”_

_“Nervous?”_

_“Yeah… I mean, yes sir.”_

_“You’ll survive. Trust me, this is a milk run. Routine scouting.”_

_“That’s likely.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_“I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t mean… It’s just that my wife is expecting, and with you being—Sorry, I’ll shut up now.”_

_“Out with it, Dey.”_

_“Well sir, you have a bit of a reputation for being a bit of a, uh…”_

_“An a-hole? A salt pillar? I know what they call me, Corpsman.”_

_“Um… yeah. I mean, you keep new squadrons out past deployment for no reason all the time—and I wouldn’t normally care—it’s just, Marika’s due only a few days after we’re scheduled to get back.”_

_“No reason? Not fond of extra training, are you? No, don’t answer that. I will have you back on time, Dey. This time.”_

* * *

The people of Xandar were very frustrated with having so bland a war hero, especially with the mysterious Guardians of the Galaxy having vanished shortly after the battle.  The Nova Corps was also frustrated. Heroes were only convenient in two forms: as martyrs, and as healthy, active corpsmen. And Denarian Saal no longer fell into either of those categories.

There had been precious few survivors among those who had held the blockade, and none from Saal’s own company, right in the center of the carnage. Of the survivors pulled out of the wreckage, only a few dozen had survived long enough for the med teams to do anything more than ease them to sleep. And of those who still pulled through, none had been as permanently damaged as Denarian Saal. None had even come close—they had all been from the fringes of the blockade. Modern medicine could do many things, but not everything.

* * *

_“Denarian Saal! This is the Daily Xandarian. Could we get a comment from you on the nature of your status with Nova Corps?”_

_“This is a funeral, citizen. Have some respect for the dead.”_

_“Are the rumors true that you lost a limb, Denarian?”_

_“Can you tell us anything about the Guardians of the Galaxy?”_

_“Last time I checked this was not their funeral. Nor mine. If you don’t leave, I can arrange for it to be yours.”_

* * *

Reserve-Corps Centurion Saal did not react well to his promotion.

* * *

_“Nova Prime, I am honored at your esteem. Your clerk seems to have made a mistake, however. This says Reserve-Corps.”_

_“Centurion Saal, I’m very sorry, but it is not a mistake. It has been decided, and not by me, that in light of your condition, you should be removed from active duty.”_

_“Condition? I’m am perfectly capable of—I can still make command decisions for—You can’t—For how long?”_

_“Now Saal, you have be honest with yourself.”_

* * *

Shortly afterwards, a stubbornly ineradicable video clip of Nova Prime’s expression at Saal’s uncharacteristically colorful refusal—which sadly was not recorded—was leaked onto the net and became the face of several memes.

Denarian Saal retired with honors but no promotion. He cagily refused to make appearances at any event other than the funerals of his company members and other martyred corpsmen. He attended appointments with his assigned Nova Corps shrink with a perfunctory poise that betrayed nothing. He attempted to weasel his way back into the Corps by consulting still-active coworkers on their own cases. He avoided liquor and other addictive distractions with adamancy but displayed every other sign of antisocial reclusivity with such intensity that people whispered rumors of drunkenness.

* * *

_“Hello, Dey.”_

_“Saal, I can’t.”_

_“I wasn’t going to ask for anything.”_

_“Sure. Look, I’ve been told to stop giving you access to my case files. Besides, I don’t even have very many anymore now that they gave me permanent babysitting duty.”_

_“Babysitting?”_

_“Quill and his gang. It’s harder than it looks.”_

_“Hmph. How are Ada and Marika?”_

_“Very excited that I now have a desk job and can spend more time on Xandar.”_

_“Enjoying desk-duty, are you, Denarian Dey?”_

_“Not everyone is a space addict like you.”_

_“I don’t see why not. It’s not as if there is anything to do on the ground. Not outside the Corps, anyway.”_

_“You could always get a private pilot license, you know. Consult for a trading corporation or something.”_

_“It’s not the same.”_

_“You have to come out of your flat sometime, Saal. The gossip about you is horrific. It would make a lot of people feel better if you started adjusting.”_

_“Meaning I’m embarrassing Nova Corps. I have been in the Corps for over twenty cycles and you’ve know me for at least half that—tell me, have you never noticed that I care at all for what other people think of me?”_

_“Your friends, Saal. You do have some, and I was talking about them.”_

* * *

In short, Denarian Saal did not know what to do with himself.

* * *

_“Hello, Saal? Look, I had an idea. I’ve found something for you to do. Something you’ll probably enjoy very much, if you can get over a few… inhibitions.”_

_“What are you even talking about?”_

_“Look, whatever happens in the next few days… just go with it. Okay?”_

_“Wait—go with what? Dey, what are you—?”_

_“Bye Saal. Have fun.”_

_“Wait—!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So in the interest of avoiding TLDR-syndrome with my beginning notes, which contain important things like warnings, I’ll be using the end notes to rant, thank my reviewers, talk about the shit I didn’t bother to research, etc… Feel free to skip them. I promise they’ll be fun, though.
> 
> I’m taking whatever liberties I feel like with canon details about Nova Corps and the characters because there isn’t actually a lot of info on them yet in the cinematic universe. I haven’t read the comics, but I’ve done some wiki-walks that gave me inspiration for a few things.
> 
> Saal’s nickname in Nova Corps is the Salt Pillar. I feel very clever for having thought it up.


	2. Recluse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garthan Saal is not having any shenanigans, no matter what Dey says, thank you very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: This is short, but it deserved its own chapter. Quill and the gang will appear in the next one.
> 
> Warnings: light internalized ableism

Garthan was determined not to leave his flat. If he didn’t go out, Dey wouldn’t be able to pull any shenanigans.

What had gotten into the fellow? Garthan had a strong feeling that Dey’s new soft spot for the so called “Guardians of the Galaxy” was corrupting him. Back when Dey was a corpsman under Garthan himself, he didn’t have a mischievous bone in body. Either that or it was his promotion, which Garthan had to admit the man fully deserved, even if Dey enjoyed ribbing Garthan about how he no longer outranked him.

* * *

_Oh, look who’s asking for favors, now, hmm?_

_I’m not asking you for a favor, Dey. I’m telling you to stop doing me favors. I’m perfectly capable of sorting this out myself._

_Same thing, coming from you. You’re not even out of the hospital yet, Saal. Just chill out for a while._

_Chill out?_

_Oh, just something Quill said to me. It means stop worrying so much._

_You’re getting awfully fond of that idiot._

_Don’t change the subject. Look, with this promotion, I’m in a position to help a lot of people out, and I wouldn’t have been in line to get it without all the help you’ve given me. So let a guy pay his debts, huh?_

* * *

Dey was nice enough, Garthan supposed. Certainly when they’d worked together Dey had been a good counterpoint to Garthan’s own aloofness. Dey genuinely liked people. Garthan, on the other hand...

People expected you to act in a certain way, to pretend to be a certain thing, before they gave approval or respect. Garthan didn’t have the patience or the energy for it. It was, ironically, both the reason he did so well in Nova Corps and the reason it had taken a brush with death to get him promoted, however briefly, beyond the rank of denarian. To civilians and subordinates, the rank of denarian automatically commanded respect without any requirements for charisma or status, but you could only advance so high in the Corps on pure competence.

Garthan liked Dey because he was one of few people who seemed to understand this. Unfortunately, Dey had a persistent habit of pretending that Garthan was, in fact, a friendly, likable person, and dragging him around to solve other people’s problems, even after they no longer worked together officially. Somewhere along the line Garthan had stopped trying to say no. Absurd really, since Garthan outranked Dey and could easily have done so— _should_ have done so.

* * *

_Well, look at that. What the hell is Saal doing here?_

_Denarian Saal? I thought you said he didn’t go in for parties?_

_He doesn’t. Who’s he here with?_

_Him, over there._

_Well, that explains it. If anyone could drag the Salt Pillar out of his ship it would be Rhomann Dey._

_Why’s that?_

_Dey’s just one of those folks you can’t help but like, isn’t he? Like a magnet. Going places, that one is._

* * *

Dey’s good causes morphed alarmingly quickly from small favors to things like making clandestine supply runs to blockaded Kree refugee satellites, posing as a mercenary in order to catch an online smuggling organization, or teaming with Ravagers to save the planet—which except for the last, had all been slightly illegal [which Garthan disapproved of] and quite exciting [which Garthan would never admit to anyone, especially Dey].

Garthan had a feeling this new idea of Dey’s would be another one of his good causes, and this time Garthan wasn’t having any of it. He wasn’t in Nova Corps, anymore. He didn’t have the resources to pull off an adventure. He didn’t have superiors who owed him favors or subordinates who would jump first and ask questions later. He didn’t even have a ship—and that, perhaps, hurt worst. Mainly, though, Garthan wasn’t going on another one of Dey’s adventures because he was afraid of finding out he could no longer pull them off—that Nova Corps had been right about his injuries making him unfit for active duty. Garthan would rather choose to do nothing at all than find out for certain he _couldn’t_ do anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So, there will be no shipping in this fic, although some discussion of sex and sexuality might happen. This is for two reasons: this is a teamfic, and I headcanon Saal as aromantic.
> 
> I really, really identify with Saal and his struggles in this fic. However, I am a non-disabled person writing about a character [Saal, if you hadn’t figured it out] that is severely permanently disabled. Please feel free to let me know if my narration becomes problematic.
> 
> How are the flashbacks? Not too jarring? Are they clear? Intriguing? What are you most interested to find out about Saal?


	3. Admantine and Adamant Refusal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why are you in my apartment?" Garthan asked.  
> "We're kidnapping you," Rocket answered cheerfully.  
> "Nicely," Peter corrected hastily. "We're kidnapping you nicely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I use pronouns precisely as I mean to; there is a non-binary character in this chapter, and if they happen to be an asshole, well, there will be others who are not down the line.
> 
> Warnings: explicit ableist slur

Three days after Dey’s last call, Garthan got kidnapped.

In a way, it wasn’t surprising, because Garthan did leave his house, even though he swore he wouldn’t. Ala Vakiri, a long-time contractor for Nova Corps and, Garthan supposed, somewhat of an old friend [Dey would call her a friend], was unveiling her latest destroyer design and had invited him to the insiders’ tour before the press ceremony. Vakiri’s ships were always excellent, and Garthan accepted, even though it meant that he would have to socialize—and with former Nova Corps colleagues.

As a veteran, he had a perfect right to wear his uniform and he did, scowling at anyone who looked surprised to see him. Vakiri was a very bubbly but also very thoughtful woman who immediately steered him away from the Nova Corps delegation for a private tour of the ship, the Admantine, she called it. It was gorgeous. It was _beyond_ gorgeous. Garthan got lost in the examining the controls, imagining the delicate maneuvers and speeds he could pull off with a ship like this. Vakiri put a hand on his arm—the right one—and warned him not to fly off, before leaving to socialize with the others.

A moment later there was another hand on his arm—his left arm, the _wrong_ arm—and Garthan jerked around.

“What pleasant surprise to see you here, Denarian,” said Centurion Korel.

One thing, perhaps the only thing, about retirement that was _good_ was that Garthan was no longer required to be polite to Centurion Korel. “Not so pleasant, on my part.”

Korel ignored him. “The Admantine’s a darling, isn’t she? My battalion will be testing her. Nova Corps has an exclusive contract; if she performs well, the line won’t be available for civilian use for years.”

The message was clear. Garthan would never, ever come close to flying one, because he was now a _civilian._ Well, if Korel wanted to be an a-hole, Garthan could give as well as he got. “Then you had better ask Vakiri to install stronger auto-nav software. Wouldn’t want you to get lost again and have to be rescued by someone.”

The someone in question had been Garthan, quite a few years ago, when Korel was still on their way up the political ladder and had made a stupid decision that killed quite a few of the corpsman under their command. The fallout had been unpleasant.

Korel’s polite smile finally soured. They turned to leave, pausing to pat Garthan’s wrong arm again. “You know, I wonder, if we’d had ships like the Admantine for the battle, if the causalities would have been lower? It’s such a pity that no one from your battalion came back alive and _whole_.”

If Garthan hadn’t frozen in shock, he might have killed Korel on the spot. Instead, Korel swept away, leaving Garthan to sort through an explosion of guilt and fury. Garthan suddenly found that he couldn’t spend one more moment in that place; he left without saying goodbye to Vakiri, storming past the cab he’d come in and taking the pedestrian lanes back to his flat, barely aware of his surroundings. How dare—

The lights were already on in his flat.

Garthan switched off his anger automatically and fell into ‘battle mode.’ His eyes darted around what was visible of his apartment from the doorway, unable to discern any changes to it. His gun—which technically didn’t exist because he was a civilian and owning a deadly weapon was illegal—was in his bedroom on the other side of the flat. It was too risky to try and get it.  The flat was too old to have the standard-issue panic button by the door; while in Nova Corps he’d never needed it enough to install one. Garthan’s mobile, he realized with chagrin, was back in the cab he had forgotten.

A tactical retreat, then. There was a public police terminal on the street below. Garthan took one step back from the doorway into the hall.

—and felt the tip of a gun jab his back.

“Wrong way, Denarian.”

The voice was familiar but unplaceable. Garthan raised his hands slowly, subtly putting his elbows in a good position for jabbing backwards. “Where are we going, then?”

His ambusher gave him a nudge with the gun and he stepped into his flat and allowed himself to be herded down the hall towards the main room. There were two or three mismatching photo frames on the wall, the old-fashioned kind with glass in them. Garthan cocked his head subtly to catch the reflection of his attacker in them as he passed.

The person behind him was Gamora: former assassin of Thanos, current member of the Guardians of the Galaxy, and the absolute last person Garthan ever expected to see in his flat. Garthan spun around to face her. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

Gamora rolled her eyes and lowered her weapon [DX-4 vaporizer automatic, illegal in Xandar, Garthan noted] but she did not pocket it. “You’re being kidnapped. Peter’s idea. He’s in the living room. Humor him so we can get this idiotic mission over with.”

Peter Quill was in his living room. Gamora was in his hallway. Garthan had a sinking feeling that the rest of them were in his flat too, and a moment later his fears were confirmed as he nearly tripped over Rocket.

“Watch your dumbass feet! I mean, come on. Here I was gonna tell you I was glad to see ya alive and shit, and you step on me? Look, I kinda got bored waiting for you to show up so I modified your food replicator into an ion-sequencer. Hope you don’t mind. Actually, I lied. I don’t really care if you mind.”

“He also made it explode,” Gamora said dryly from behind Garthan.

“That part was totally accidental and definitely Groot’s fault.”

The plantoid in question stuck his head in the hallway, looking for some reason much shorter than Saal remembered from its arrest file. “I am Groot!”

“It was too,” Rocket countered.

Garthan glared at the three of them. “Why are you in my apartment?”

Rocket grinned up at him. “We’re kidnapping you. Didn’t Dey tell you what was up?”

So this—whatever the hell ‘this’ was—was Dey’s newest little adventure. Oh, the man was going to be for it when Garthan got hold of him. Which would be as soon as he got the Idiots of the Galaxy out of his apartment.

“Oh, get out of my way,” Garthan snapped. He pushed past Rocket and Groot into the main room of his flat. It was cookie-cutter flat with an open kitchen unit in the back, the living room lowered into the floor [which had given Garthan hell when he was relearning how to walk] and a floor-to-ceiling window with a programmable view on the other side. Garthan barely spared a glance for a kitchen, confident that it would probably need replacing en masse, and Drax, who was playing with the window intently, and located Quill, who was sitting on the sofa with his shoes on the cushions.

Quill grinned widely at Garthan. “Hey Saal! How’s it hanging? Nice place you got. How come there’s nothing to drink in here?”

There were so many things wrong with the picture before Garthan that he ended up focusing on the one that was least complicated. “Get your feet off the sofa.”

Quill made a face but complied. He then bounced to his feet, and seemed prepared to start one of his ridiculous speeches. “Saal, today is your lucky day—”

“Why are you in my apartment?” Garthan interrupted.

Peter switched tracks. “Ah well, we’re doing this, ah, hero thing, you know, like we do now, as heroes, and we need a bit of a hand—just a quick favor, really—from Nova Corps.”

Gamora harrumphed and crossed her arms, displaying her disagreement with the idea as passive-aggressively as possible.

“And Dey told you I would be willing to help?” Garthan said, turning on the expression he used to make cocky recruits apply for transfers. It seemed to work, slightly. Quill nodded.

Rocket piped up to clarify. “Actually, he said you’d throw a fit if we asked you, so we’re cutting out that part by just kidnapping you.”

“Nicely,” Quill corrected hastily. “We’re kidnapping you nicely.”

Garthan reminded himself to breathe and tried not to be astounded by the idiocy of the outlaws who had somehow managed to help to save Xandar. Garthan never raised his voice, even when he was angry; he rarely had to in order to intimidate people, but even he was approaching his limit here. “I’m not going anywhere. Tell Dey to stop meddling. I’m not interested in any more of his little adventures, especially ones that involve babysitting the Idiots of the Galaxy. Now get out of my fucking apartment.”

“Ooh, what a mouth on you. I’m scared now.”

“Don’t mock me, Rocket. Four of you are currently carrying illegal weapons, and I’ll bet whatever rust-bucket you flew in on is stolen. If you don’t leave, I’ll have you arrested.”

Quill frowned, and his eyes darted to each of his companions before he made a quick motion to Drax. Gamora was still seeping disapproval and Rocket had bristled at Garthan’s threat. Garthan hoped that they would decide to retreat after all.

“See, here’s the thing,” Quill told Garthan. “We got a plan, and it requires us to kidnap you. We’d like to do it nicely, you know, since we’re good guys now.”

“No.”

Quill shrugged, as if to show he was helpless to change the situation. “Well, in that case, I got break it to you: we’re kinda still on the fence about the good-guy thing—so we just won’t do it nicely.”

At which point Drax appeared next to Garthan and knocked him solidly in the skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: This chapter was so fun to write. Saal’s apartment is out-dated because between Nova Corps before the battle and the hospital after, he doesn’t spend much time there. Saal justifies owning a weapon because he knows how to use one safely and after twenty years in Nova Corps the habit is hard to break. Groot is still shorter and weaker because it takes a while to recover from being exploded.


	4. Anesthesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardians nearly kill Saal, entirely by accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So, stealing some comicverse ideas for my own purposes. No need to be familiar with the comics to get it. Also, this chapter and Chapter 1 are the only chapters in which italics do not necessarily signify Saal's flashbacks.
> 
> Warnings: distressing flashbacks and an unpleasant psychological/medical reaction to anesthesia

The smell of anesthesia was choking Garthan. It was out of control—too heavy, too sweet, too much of everything. All of his senses were working like crazy; they were way too sensitive… His limbs felt like stone. Even in his panic Garthan wondered why they weren’t throbbing with heat like usual.

It had all been a dream, then. He’d never gotten out of the hospital, or else he’d relapsed again. Even though his ears ached from picking up the sounds of dust motes floating he couldn’t seem to understand the voices of any of the doctors arguing near him. They were going to replace something else, probably. Garthan felt like he was forgetting to breathe.

* * *

_“Fuck, what the hell is wrong with him?”_

_“Quill, what did you give him?”_

_“It was just a common sopoforic. It’s not even dangerous. They give it to kids.”_

_“You idiots. You don’t know what other kind of medication he’s on.”_

* * *

This was bad. Garthan was supposed to keep breathing. He tried to remember what he’d been told to do when this happened. It was very hard to think. There was a panic button. Hit the panic button. Garthan couldn’t tell if his limbs were responding right, or at all. Did he have them still?

* * *

_“Well, I’m sorry I’m not a doctor! How else were we going to sneak him off planet if he didn’t want to come? It’s not like you had a plan to contribute, Miss Lone Ranger.”_

_“I told you not to call me names. I cannot tell if you’re insulting me or not.”_

_“Guys, shut the fuck up. We have to wake him. Dey is not going to be happy if you accidentally kill his best friend.”_

_“Not to mention we’ll go to prison again.”_

* * *

The doctor had told him to stay calm. The nerve implants could get jerked out of sync if he panicked. Just stay calm. That was a lot easier to say than to do, Garthan thought. He was getting a headache from the smell of the anesthetic. The nurse had told him once the anesthetic was odorless. Well. That’s what she knew, was it? All Garthan knew was that he couldn’t move and that the smell was slowly killing him.

* * *

_“Rocket, where are you going?”_

_“To find out where he keeps his meds so I know how to safely wake him up.”_

_“Why would he be on medication anyway?”_

_“Really? You need to ask that? The guy had Ronan’s damn ship fall on him. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was surprised he’s alive.”_

* * *

Stay calm. Remember that you can move. Garthan gathered as much focus as he could and tried to unclench his fists. He had to make it work. If he rejected the nerve implants they’d have to replace them again and he didn’t think he could handle that anymore. Slowly, slowly, his muscles started responding. It was too slow. Garthan still couldn’t remember how to breathe.

* * *

_“Shit. Guys, I don’t think he’s breathing.”_

_“We need to call Nova Corps, Peter.”_

_“We can’t. Dey said we can’t blow our cover with this one.”_

_“I do not recall that. Denarian Dey said secrecy was of utmost importance, and that we could not reveal Nova Corps’ involvement, and—”_

_“Metaphor, Drax.”_

* * *

Garthan was losing. He needed help. He did the obvious thing. Years of habit made it automatic. When you needed help in Nova Corps, you reached out via the worldmind and help came to you, either from your comrades or the Nova Force itself. There was something about that, Garthan knew, something the doctors had stressed many times to him, but he couldn’t remember.

* * *

_“Rocket, what’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”_

_“Nothing. Groot, pull some wires out of that wall by the window. Gamora, give me your vaporizer.”_

_“What are you doing?”_

_“Saal’s Nova Corps, and everyone in Nova Corps has a cybernetic implant that lets them do the crazy shit they do. Saal is retired, so they might have turned it off; I don’t know. They’re secretive as hell about it. But if we run just a jolt—dammit, Groot, that’s too big, strip it down—a really tiny jolt of electricity through it, it should jumpstart his nervous system, wake him up. I need the reducer in your gun to make sure the jolt isn’t too large.”_

* * *

Garthan was suddenly breathing again and damn, it hurt. He had an incredible head rush from the excess of oxygen and was very aware of his limbs now—all of them were trembling. Awareness came back to him so suddenly that he overshot when he tried to get up and ended up falling off the sofa, knocking over whomever had been kneeling next to him. Cold sweat dripped down his face and he brushed it away, pleased to be able to use his arm correctly.

Garthan looked around. A hole had been punched in his wall and Rocket was fiddling with wires that had been pulled out of it, and looking at him with a strange expression that Garthan found suspiciously close to pity. Quill had fallen over the coffee table when Garthan knocked into him. All of the outlaws looked visibly shocked. Garthan supposed he must look like a mess, so he glared at them.

Quill managed to right himself and winced at Garthan’s accusing look. “Look man, I’m really sorry. But you know, if you had just agreed to come with us in the first place…”

Garthan reached out very deliberately with his left arm, seized a hank of Quill’s messy hair, and slammed the man’s face into the coffee table. Quill’s cry and the sound of the glass cracking slightly sounded quite loud, and Garthan figured his ears were still over-sensitive. He had a suppressant for it in the bedroom. He staggered to his feet, swaying slightly, and pushed past Gamora.

Half a dose later Garthan was beginning to feel more stable, especially since none of his intruders had followed him into his bedroom. Garthan closed his eyes and leaned silently against the wall.

“You always were a tough son of a bitch, Saal.”

It was Rocket. Garthan didn’t bother opening his eyes. “You went through my medication.”

It had been fairly obvious; everything had been in disarray when Garthan found it. He wasn’t sure how much someone could tell just by looking at them, but Garthan knew that even though Rocket was a temperamental jerk and a criminal, he was very intelligent—and very familiar with cybernetics.

* * *

_“The name’s Rocket, dumbass, and if you call me ‘it’ or by that number again I’ll rip you a new one.”_

_“Fine. Rocket, my name is Denarian Saal of Nova Corps. I have been assigned the dubious pleasure of figuring out what to do with you.”_

_“Don’t even think about sending me to the one of your labs. Next time an egghead in a white suit comes near me_ I’m _vivisecting_ him. _”_

* * *

It didn’t matter, Garthan told himself. In fact, they would probably all leave him alone now that it was obvious that he was not… well, that he was a mess.

“I was trying to figure out what kind of reaction you were having. We were kinda worried you might kick the bucket on us.”

“I almost did.”

“Yeah, sorry. Quill’s plan. You’ll have to give me the serial numbers on those so I can get hold of refills for you while we’re off planet.”

Now Garthan opened his eyes. “You still want me to come with you?”

“Why not?” Rocket’s gaze was challenging. He was going to make Garthan say it, then.

* * *

_“Oh look, it’s the fucking Salt Pillar again. Why don’t you just leave me the hell alone?”_

_“Get up. And behave. I’m escorting you back to Xandar for criminal trial. On my recommendation they’re trialing you as a fully sentient life form capable of being held responsible for your numerous crimes.”_

_“Well that’s just—wait. A trial. That means they recognize I’m a person, doesn’t it? With rights and shit. Why would they do that?”_

_“Why not?”_

* * *

Garthan would be damned before he voiced his fears out loud to _Rocket_ of all people. Garthan pushed off the wall and threw the box of meds on his bed. He slid open one of his cabinets, retrieved his gun, and tossed it next to them. “I refuse to do anything illegal,” he growled.

Rocket grinned. “Sure. Like owning an unlicensed weapon. Cause that’s totally legal.”

Garthan ignored him, collecting more things from around his room. “What are we doing, then?”

“Oh, I never paid attention to the details. Quill’s the one with the plan. You broke his nose, by the way.”

“Good. He’s an idiot.”

Rocket laughed. “Saal, I am really glad you’re alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: More team interaction in this chapter. I feel like even after a year and a half, the gang still isn’t very smooth or well-coordinated or even-tempered, so they freak out a little in a crisis.
> 
> What happened with Saal is that after knocking him out the Guardians tried to give him something to keep him from waking up too early and he reacted badly to it for exactly the reason Gamora and Rocket brought up: mixing medication is bad fucking idea.
> 
> This chapter started a thing between Saal and Rocket that I did not intend to happen but is really awesome. Rocket reacts the way he does because he understands enough about cybernetics to interpret Saal’s meds correctly. In the flashback Saal is actually doing Rocket a huge favor because it’s Saal’s recommendation that Nova Corps treat Rocket like a person and Saal’s reputation is at stake if the courts don’t go with it.
> 
> So the Nova Force is not a thing [yet?] in the movieverse, but will be a thing in this fic. Details to come.


	5. Aiding and Abetting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That one.” Garthan pointed out the Admantine.  
> “The destroyer? The one that probably has brand new anti-theft mods? Are you crazy?” Rocket hissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

Garthan still did not get to hear Quill’s grand plan when he and Rocket returned to the living room, because apparently they were running behind schedule. In the end he was hustled out of the building without being able to change out of his uniform or grab anything other than the essentials he had already thrown together—meds, weapon, two changes of ammunition, emergency med kit—or notify anyone of his absence. Quill explained, from several feet away and with distinct wariness, that they really did want to make it look like Garthan had been kidnapped, so he had a defense in case people asked questions later, a precaution that had apparently been Dey’s idea. Quill and his gang may have been currently riding on a free pass as far as Xandarian justice was concerned, but there were many other planets outside the Xandarian empire who were a little more hard-nosed.

The group split up into two auto-cabs that headed out of the city by ground, probably towards the docks. Garthan made sure to slip into Quill’s cab so that he could get an answer out of him.

“What exactly are we doing that I’m going to need an alibi for it afterwards?”

Quill’s voice was slightly distorted since he was holding a bloody freeze-pac over his nose. “Well, since Nova Corps can’t retaliate against the Kree actions because the old treaty still rules, Dey has—”

Garthan felt a knot materialize in his gut. What new problem was this? If a new Ronan had risen up in the old one’s ashes… “Wait. What have the Kree been doing?”

Drax, next to Peter, answered. “Ronan’s supporters have been fighting amongst themselves for power, and setting up personal kingdoms in what is left of Ronan’s territory by using violence against the populace there.”

“And why isn’t Nova Corps stopping them?”

“Dude, it’s been all over the net, and the news. The Kree leadership have stated that the peace treaty Xandar signed before the battle with Ronan means than the land belongs to the Kree. Where have you been the last cycle and a half?”

Garthan made sure to use a tone that could have frozen pure nitrogen. “In the hospital, most of the time. I didn’t even wake up for half a cycle after the battle. Made it hard to keep up with current events. Getting kicked out of the Nova Corps means I don’t have access to intelligence reports anymore.”

Quill had the decency to look ashamed. “Dey said you retired. That you were a national hero. Why would they kick you out?”

“Politics.” It wasn’t quite a lie. Strings could have been pulled to keep Garthan in Nova Corps even with his disadvantages, but Nova Prime hadn’t deigned to pull them. It stung, especially since Garthan had spent the last eight months before the battle helping her with that damn treaty and he thought they’d been close.

“Well, what’s going on is that Dey has been trying to get the Kree and Xandarian refugees out of the way of the turf wars without breaking the treaty.”

Garthan nodded. It sounded like Dey. A good cause, and as a Denarian, Dey now had the resources to pull it off. Garthan wondered if Dey had inadvertently slipped into Garthan’s old role in the Corps—Nova Prime always kept one or two denarians without a battalion of their own in order to better organize specialized missions and projects. Assignments in Nova Corps in were incredibly fluid.

Quill continued: “We’re involved because one of Ronan’s supporters, guy calls himself Onchi the Torch, is holed up on this moon out in quadrant three and raining all sorts of hell on the Kree there. Apparently there’s a resistance group on the moon that’s been trying to overthrow Onchi, but the fight is so uneven that it’s like Rebels taking on the Death Star.”

“What!?” Death Star? Another weapon of mass destruction was not something to be talking so casually about.

Quill sighed like he was some kind of martyr. “Forget that last part. They’re really outnumbered, is all. Nova Corps can’t send help because of the treaty, so Dey suggested we look into it, which is his super-secret-spy-code for ‘go help the rebels kill Onchi’.”

Garthan had a feeling that Dey probably meant something closer to ‘find an excuse for Nova Corps to legally intervene’ but he doubted a criminal like Quill had thought of that. “That doesn’t explain why you need me.”

“We found someone who claims to have vital information on Onchi but they’ll only give it to Nova Corps directly. Dey can’t send the Real McCoy because of the treaty; and we can’t send a fake one because everyone knows it’s impossible to impersonate someone from Nova Corps.”

That was perfectly true. Counterfeit implants were extremely hard to come by, but even if a fraud could somehow get a real one, the Nova Force wouldn’t respond to a stranger. It would respond to Garthan, retired or not. “And I’m neither.”

“Bingo. All you have to do is talk to the guy, give us the info, and we’ll take care of the rest.”

Garthan couldn’t see any glaring faults with the idea, which was surprising considering that Quill had been behind it. He resisted the urge to ask Quill what they planned to do about Onchi; he wasn’t going to be involved himself so he knew he shouldn’t try and micromanage their plan. It was just so similar to the kind of missions Garthan would had been running before the battle, and would still be running now if he was still an active Denarian. Nova Corps chose denarians based on mental ability to organize a complex system—a delicate mission, a battalion, a legal question—without losing track of the details. It required a puzzle-solving mind. He’d thoroughly enjoyed the position. Before Garthan had been promoted to denarian—following the fiasco with Korel—he’d rarely been permitted to work independently or supervise more than a few other corpsmen. Centurions, on the other hand, delegated quite a bit in favor of focusing on diplomacy, and Garthan was fairly sure that even with the position’s increased access to the Nova Force he wouldn’t like it much.

The mission itself, Garthan decided, probably wouldn’t get him killed. Possibly it would even be enjoyable, since he’d be able to spend some time space-side. [However, that didn’t mean Garthan didn’t plan on grilling Dey when he got back.] There remained, unfortunately, the question of how he was going to coexist with five idiotic criminals during that time. Rocket he was pretty sure he could get by with—they had known each other before the battle and had established a stable pattern of mutual respect. Garthan had no idea about the others—or rather, he had a very clear idea of the others: Gamora was dangerous and uncooperative, Drax was homicidal, Groot was just inexplicable altogether, and Peter Quill aka Starlord aka Most Ridiculous Thug in the Quadrant was immature and unpredictable. None of them were qualities Garthan was inclined to accommodate.

Unfortunately, it didn’t look like Garthan could do anything about it short of refusing to come, and that option had turned out _beautifully_ the first time.

“Alright, I’ll help you. But if we’re going to be working together, there have to be rules.”

Quill’s eyebrows jumped up to his hairline. “Rules? We’re kind of a go-with-the-flow group, actually.”

“Do you want my help or not?”

“Saal, you’re not the one with the cards, here. We just established that whether you do this willingly or not you are doing it. There’s five of us and one of you.”

“We do not wish to hurt you, Denarian Saal, but there are no other retired corpsmen for us to kidnap” Drax added.

“How much do you know about the Nova Force, Quill?” Garthan was walking a fine line here; discussing the Nova Force with outsiders was incredibly illegal, but Garthan wasn’t planning to reveal anything so much as use the Nova Force’s reputation to bluff a little.

“Um… it’s kinda like the Jedi Force, but less cool?”

“The what?” Quill was speaking Standard, but half of what came out of his mouth was nonsense to Garthan.

“The Nova Force is a special source of telepathic aid for warriors of the Nova Corps to call on in times of distress,” Drax said.

“Where did you hear that?” Garthan asked quickly, shocked to hear such a clear, accurate description from a complete outsider.

“My wife’s brother was married to a millenian in the Nova Corps. One of very few people on my home planet to find their partner off-world.”

Garthan hesitated a moment before deciding that a chatty millenian wasn’t a problem he could do anything about and turned his attention back to intimidating Quill. “Exactly. So if you’re counting it’s actually five thugs on your side and the entirety of Nova Corps on mine.”

“We are not thugs,” Drax countered. “We are on the side of justice, just as you are.”—Quill blanched a little at that, Garthan noted—“You do not need to fear violence from us.”

“That’s very reassuring, especially after you all just nearly killed me.”

“It is good you understand.” Sarcasm was apparently lost on Drax the Destroyer, which was a pity because next to his actual gun it was Garthan’s best weapon. The cab was slowing to a stop.

“Listen, can we talk about this later? We have a ship to steal here and we’re kinda behind schedule.” Quill said, finally putting down his freeze-pac and wiping stray blood off of his face with his sleeve.

“You’re stealing a ship? What happened to the one you came in on?”

“Nothing. The Milano is fine, and it’s totally _not_ stolen, by the way.” Quill said this proudly, as if owning something that wasn’t stolen was an _accomplishment_. He motioned out the window, and Garthan realized that they had gone right past the civilian docks and were parked outside the Nova Corps shipyard. Quill winked. “Can’t be a corpsman with a Nova Corps ship, can you?”

“We’re stealing a _Nova_ ship?”

Just as Garthan was wondering where the hell that ‘ _we’_ had come from, Quill shook his head vigorously. “Oh no, not you. You’re along for job, that’s all. Just stay in the cab and let us professionals work.”

If there was a single word in the galaxy that did not apply to the Guardians of the Galaxy, it was _professional_. Garthan let his skepticism soak into his tone. “How do you plan to do this without getting killed or arrested?”

“Trade secrets. Can’t tell you.” Quill was halfway out of the cab already.

“We are going to sneak in with the people who have come to gawk at the new craft they are unveiling today. I will incapacitate any resistance we meet while Rocket and Peter acquire a ship and deactivate the anti-theft modifications,” Drax said as he followed Peter. Garthan was not far behind; damned if he was taking orders from a petty criminal.

“Wow. Thanks, Drax,” Quill said, before making a shooing motion at Garthan. “Gamora and Groot are going to head back to the Milano in the other cab. Can I trust you to catch a ride with them and not run away?”

Garthan gave Quill a look that unfortunately failed to turn him to stone, and remained by the cab as Drax and Quill approached the security gates. This was going to be good. Garthan crossed his arms and leaned against the auto-cab dock. They’d be stopped before the whole thing even started, and then Garthan would be free to go strangle Rhomann Dey.

Rocket showed up a second later, strutting. “Hey, the cab’s waiting for ya.”

“Does Quill honestly think that no one is going to recognize you and Drax? He could possibly get away with pretending to be part of the press, but not you two.” Garthan had waited to ask Rocket because Rocket was the only half-tolerable person in the whole gang. Which was saying something.

“In this crowd? I’m three feet tall. Most of them won’t even see me.”

“Drax?”

Rocket shrugged. “…eh, he’s an idiot. It’s Quill’s plan.”

“I’m starting to get a feeling about these plans of his.”

Rocket grinned, bearing his teeth, before hurrying towards Quill and Drax, now at the gate talking to the Nova guards there. “Don’t start any trouble, old man,” he called over his shoulder.

“I’m not the one about to commit a crime, _hamster_.”

A hand settled on his shoulder and Garthan jumped. It was Gamora, the silent assassin, getting the drop on him the second time that day. “Don’t touch me,” Garthan snapped. “Rule number one: Don’t touch me. Ever.”

Gamora quirked an eyebrow. “Peter agreed to rules?”

“He will if he knows what’s good for him.”

“We’re supposed to take the cab back to the Milano.”

A shout from Drax—who else?—erupted at the gate and Garthan heard Gamora swear under her breath. It appeared that Quill’s smooth talking had gone wrong. The guards at the gate were looking visibly antsy. Garthan frowned. He didn’t want anyone getting shot, and he wasn’t sure just how far Quill’s incompetency extended in the social relations department.

“Bring Groot. Don’t attract attention,” he said to Gamora, trying to figure out a plan. He didn’t wait for her to move; he strode through the crowd toward Quill and the security guards, consciously injecting each step with confidence. It was the kind of walk that suggested the one walking owned the ground and everything resting on it—an officer’s walk—and Garthan knew for a fact that only Nova Prime did it better than he did and that was because she could do it in high heels. When you didn’t have a plan, The Walk could sometimes do the trick all by itself.

Peter had both hands up in a conciliatory gesture when Garthan arrived. “I’m telling you man, we’re supposed to be—”

Neither the security officer nor Quill and his companions noticed Garthan’s approach, but it didn’t matter because he immediately inserted himself in the middle of the conversation. “Good to see you’re not late. You have your security passes?”

Peter gaped a little, and then miraculously came up with an appropriate answer—“Um, no?”—giving Garthan an excuse to look disapprovingly at the guard.

“What is problem, Corpsman?”

The security officer glanced at Garthan’s uniform, and her tone was properly respectful when she informed Garthan that all the security passes had already been checked out; everyone who had permission to be here already was.

“Obviously not,” Garthan said witheringly. “You have a Denarian Saal in that database, don’t you?”

The guard checked. “Yes, but—”

“Fine, then sort out the mess with the others on your own time. We have somewhere to be.”

A moment later the guard let them in, promising to send someone with passes as soon as she could. Gamora and Groot slipped into their little group at the last moment and they all darted around the corner of the nearest hangar to stay out of sight.

“How come you were on her list if you’re retired?” Quill asked.

“I was here earlier on a private invitation. And we don’t have much time before she figures that out.”

“We don’t have much time before that satellite is outta range and our chances for a clean get away go kaput,” Rocket added.

“Satellite?”

“Radar satellite up in orbit. We tacked an EMP onto it coming down. I’ll set it off when we break orbit any they won’t be able to see where we go. Result: they can’t chase us.”

“Those satellites have shielding to prevent exactly that from happening.”

“Not if there’s no power for the shields.”

“What did you do?”

Rocket shrugged. “Blacked out the solar panels.” Garthan frowned, torn between being impressed and being distressed that Nova’s radar satellites were vulnerable to attack.

“If you two are done, we do have a ship to steal here.”

Garthan could not believe he had almost forgotten that. He’d helped them get in; he was an accomplice now. Stars help him. What was he getting into?

“What kind are we taking?” Rocket asked Quill.

“We’ve got too many people to fit in a scout ship, since _someone_ decided that they couldn’t stay in the cab. Cruiser maybe. We’ll take a look in the hangar. Gamora, can you make sure nobody gets shot while Rocket and I take a look around?”

Gamora nodded.

“You’re leaving _her_ in charge of nobody getting shot?” Garthan said.

“Watch it, Denarian,” Gamora growled.

Garthan’s patience was wearing thin. In one day, he’d been insulted, kidnapped, had his flat overrun with outlaws, almost died, and now he had been somehow press-ganged into stealing from Nova Corp. “Watch yourself. I going to make sure they don’t blow anything up.”

“Now Saal, I know you’re excited to start with your criminal career and steal shit with us, but this is a two man job.”

Garthan stepped closer to Quill. Garthan was an inch or two taller and used it to his advantage. “Your nose is crooked.”

Quill’s left hand made an aborted movement towards his face and the outlaw stepped back slightly. His friendly tone, which had not slipped all day, finally soured. “Fine! You know, I get why they call you the Salt Pillar.”

They slipped in the back entrance and Quill and Rocket poked around the hangar, staying far away from the crowd surrounding the Admantine. Garthan caught himself admiring it again. As he listened to Rocket turn down one ship after another, muttering about anti-theft mods and airlocks, an idea occurred to Garthan.

No. No, _no_. It wasn’t a good idea, he told himself firmly. Absolutely not.

And yet.

One way or another, a Nova ship was going to get stolen, and Garthan was unfortunately already aiding and abetting that theft. No use going about it half-way… Denarian Garthan Saal never did _anything_ half-way. Not to mention the look on Korel’s face, which would be priceless, even if Garthan wouldn’t see it. Garthan allowed himself to smile very briefly at the thought and then decided that he might possibly be able to forgive some of Dey’s new deviousness if this is what it felt like.

“I know which ship you need,” he called to Quill and Rocket.

“Which one?”

“That one.” Garthan pointed out the Admantine.

“The destroyer? The one that probably has brand new anti-theft mods? That’s surrounded by at least sixty people?” Rocket hissed. “Are you crazy?”

“Destroyers are made for long deployments. They have room for a whole squadron, decent firepower and can take more hits than a cruiser. That one in particular is very fast. And it’s a brand new design, so unfriendly ships won’t immediately recognize it as a Nova ship.”

Quill’s eyes glittered as he inspected the Admantine from afar. “It’s a beautiful ship.”

Well, if Peter Quill was an incompetent criminal at least he had good taste in ships. Garthan scanned the crowd at the base of the ship, looking for Vakiri’s bright green hair.

“It doesn’t matter how pretty the damn thing is if we can’t steal it,” Rocket said.

Garthan spotted Vakiri. “I should be able to help with that. Get the others. I’ll leave the cargo door open for you. You might want to arrange for the evacuation alarms to go off.”

Rocket glanced at Quill, who nodded, before moving. Quill followed Garthan towards the Admantine.

“What are you doing?” Garthan asked.

“Oh, you know, making sure you’re not about to have us arrested.”

Which was Garthan _should_ be doing. Garthan pushed the thought away as they came up to Vakiri. When she saw him, she pulled herself away from the conversation she was in.

“Are you alright, dear? You left so abruptly earlier.”

“Sorry. Something came up. This is Peter Quill.”

“ _The_ Peter Quill? Starlord? How exciting.”

Quill grinned; Garthan rolled his eyes.

“Don’t make a scene. Quill, Ala Vakiri designed this ship.”

“Just as gorgeous as you are.” Quill winked. “I’m sure she handles well, too. What’s she called?”

“The Admantine.”

Garthan did not have any patience for Quill’s flirting, or for Vakiri’s encouragement. “Ala, I need a favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So I’ve been wondering how many of you are here for the aromantic tag, how many for the Garthan tag and how many just wandered in on the GotG tag?
> 
> I don’t know if Star Wars was a thing before Peter left Earth, but I’m not inclined to look it up. My knowledge of pop-culture from the eighties is limited as is.
> 
> So my headcanon with the amount of fame the Guardians of the Galaxy have is that on Xandar, they are really well-known and people know their faces and names. They also have clean criminal records, at least up until now. One reason Gamora is so done with this mission is that they’re giving up their clean slates for it. As you get off-planet and out of Xandarian space, folks are less likely to know the full details of the battle or recognize the gang, and their clemency disappears. The various bounties on them have increased, however. 


	6. Grand Theft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My mission. My plan. I give the orders."  
> "Your plan? The one I've had to stop from falling apart twice now?"  
> "I didn't ask you to!"  
> "I didn't ask to be kidnapped!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Saal mentions he’s aromantic to Quill. Quill is not quite an asshole about it.
> 
> Warnings: aro-erasure

Garthan did not actually tell Vakiri that he was planning to steal her ship. This was for two reasons. One, because even Vakiri wasn't _so_ agreeable as to let him waltz off with the only completed prototype of her newest baby. Two, he wanted her to have plausible deniability. Garthan just told her he was cashing in on a favor and he would explain afterwards. Instantly she was suspicious.

"Well, what's the favor, then?"

"Quill here would very much like to have a private look at the Admantine. I'll show him around, if you don't mind, and you can keep the rest of your guests occupied. Especially Korel, if he's still here."

Vakiri frowned. "Denarian Saal, are you going to sabotage this ship before Korel gets his hands on it?"

"Not at all. I wouldn't dream of damaging the Admantine.”

“I would have to kill you if you did.” Vakiri sent a message through the crowd that she had a few words for the public and would everyone please gather outside the ship before the interior became completely covered in fingerprints.

Garthan and Quill slipped inside through the open cargo door and they had a hushed but no less furious argument about who would fly before Quill pointed out that as a goody-two-shoes lawman, Garthan didn't have a clue how to bypass anti-theft mods. Conceding the battle but not the war, Garthan discretely checked the ship for stragglers and then began shutting all the outer doors except the cargo hatch. Quill couldn't start the engines until Rocket set off the evac alarms and the crowd moved away from the ship, or they’d have some fried reporters on their hands. Garthan settled into to the copilot’s chair and watched the view screen for signs of the rest of their party.

He was actually going space side again. Garthan was almost too anxious to believe it. It would be just like his luck for the entire day to have been a dream. It wouldn't be the strangest one he'd had since the battle, either. Drumming his fingers on the side of his seat in anticipation, Garthan tried to get his thoughts to keep from jumping around: the risks he was taking with this adventure—his anxieties about spending time in close contact complete strangers—Rocket's strangely natural acceptance of Quill's leadership [Garthan had certainly noticed the look Rocket gave Quill before following Garthan's suggestion because it was one he was used to getting from his subordinates]—what Vakiri would do to him if he didn't bring the Admantine back without a scratch on her—why Dey had set him up for this whole escapade in the first place—whether he could pull it off without some kind of disaster…

* * *

_"Well, Denarian, you can go home now. You'll be back for tests and therapy, of course, but hopefully not for another surgery."_

_"Unless I relapse again."_

_"Don't be a pessimist. You should be grateful—"_

_"—for my miraculous recovery. I've been told."_

_"Miraculous? It was science and skill that saved you, and a good deal of Nova Force—and do remember what I told you about that or you will relapse. No, I would hardly call your recovery miraculous."_

_"And I would hardly call it a recovery."_

_"What was that?"_

_"Nothing."_

_"Then Nurse Dama will show you out."_

_"Don't mind the doctor, dear. He's just happy the nerve implants finally took."_

_"What about you, Dama? What would you call my_ miraculous recovery _?"_

_"I'd call it a second chance."_

* * *

Quill, done with his hacking, spun around in the pilot's chair like he was eight years old. He waggled his eyebrows, smirking. "So, is she an old flame?"

It took a second for Garthan to figure out who and what Quill was talking about. When he did, Garthan couldn't help but grimace at the idea. "No. Don't be crude."

"Jeez, I was just trying to find out if she's available. So if she's not your type who do you go for, then?"

Stars save him from Peter Quill's small talk, Garthan thought. "I don't 'go for' anyone."

"Fine, who would you go for if you weren't a mean, cranky, respectable Nova officer?"

"Still no one. It's called aromantic. Rule number two: don't ask me about my love life."

"Your nonexistent love life?" Quill’s tone suggested he thought this highly unlikely.

"That's the one."

"Wait, what was rule number one? I didn't agree to rules."

"It's not up for debate."

"I mean, how many rules are we talking here?"

"As many as is necessary to keep you all from killing me or driving me insane." Garthan peered at the view screen. "What is taking the others so long?"

"Chill out. They'll get here. You know, on my planet, they say rules are made to be broken."

"How about, if for every rule you break, I break your nose again?" Garthan was having resort to threats with Quill way more than made him comfortable. In Nova Corps, violence was always the last option. It was unbearably unsophisticated, which was probably why it was the only thing to work on Quill. The man just refused to be intimidated.

"No way Jose. You're are a lot stronger than you look."

"Only in that arm," Garthan muttered.

Just then, the evac alarms went off, shrieking like banshees. Garthan jumped and then bolted to his feet, while Quill was startled enough to actually fall off his chair. From the floor, Quill grinned. "Here they come!"

The view screen buzzed with activity: Nova Corpsmen seemed to spring out of the walls, and they immediately began herding civilians out of the hangar. Others swept over every ship (thankfully starting at the other end of the hangar), locking them down and unplugging all the grounding cords. Another group was shutting down and disconnecting anything electronic.

The specific alarm Rocket had chosen to set off was the one that signified an incoming power surge. A very clever choice, because it meant the Admantine would presently be the only ship in this hangar that could move on its own power. It was a necessary but uncommon alarm that generally only went off during drills or when R&D tried to 'improve' the tech in the control tower. The corpsmen were executing the evac procedures a little sluggishly, and Garthan made a note to find the hangar's CO and recommend an extra drill or two, before remembering with a pang that that he was no longer an active denarian. 

"Let’s start her up." Garthan's fingers danced over the control board, but Peter slapped his hand down to stop them.

He shook his head. “They'll know something's up. We wait until the others are on board."

"We're going to have _Nova Corps_ on board in about thirty seconds!" Garthan hissed. 

As if to prove Garthan right, noise echoed through the empty ship from the direction of the cargo door.

"Shit. Go check it out," said Quill.

"I'm not going to take orders from _you_."

"Actually, I _am_ in charge."

"Really."

"My mission. My plan. I give the orders."

"Your plan? The one I've had to stop from falling apart twice now?"

"I didn't ask you to!"

"I didn't ask to be _kidnapped_!"

"Can you two finish this cockfight after we're out of orbit?" 

They snapped their attention from each other to Gamora, standing at the back of the cockpit, arms crossed, looking thoroughly disgusted. Garthan could not for the life of him think of something sarcastic to say.

The ride out of orbit was very smooth; Rocket's EMP went off without a hitch and the evac alarm had given them such a head start they almost needn't have bothered. Quill and Rocket took the controls and refused to let Garthan near them—Quill because he was being a prick and Rocket because "no offense, Saal, but you probably drive like a little old lady." Now that Garthan thought about it, Rocket was a prick, too.

Once they were a safe distance away from Xandar and any pursuing Nova ships, Quill and Rocket brought the Admantine to a neutral drift and released the controls.

"Good job, gang. We got in, got what we needed, got out. Let's call it a day."

"I am Groot."

Rocket looked up from under the control board, where, with Garthan's luck, he probably was already taking something apart. "What's that?"

"I am Groot."

Rocket paused, made a face, and then howled with laughter. "I cannot believe that _Groot_ was the first one to notice."

"Notice what?" Quill asked.

Rocket just laughed.

"We are all here," said Drax suddenly.

"And...?"

"And no one is on the Milano.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: They left the Milano! Idiots… It is my personal opinion that Drax and Groot are the two with their heads screwed on most straight, which is why they figured it out before anyone else.
> 
> Saal and Peter get a little immature here for a bit, but I felt like that was within the spirit of the movie, which I am really trying to catch here.
> 
> Saal is aromantic, which means that he doesn’t experience romantic attraction—he doesn’t “fall in love”. There are other types of love which are just as important, like that between friends and family, which is what this fic focuses on. Romantic attraction, [which occurs on a spectrum] is separate from a person’s sexual attraction [and ya’ll can keep guessing about Saal’s].
> 
> Here is a big shout out to all the folks leaving kudos, favs and comments! You are all awesome and you literally make my day every time I get a new notification.


	7. Plastic and Titanium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempers flare. Garthan should have known this would be a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: This is short but felt a little too intense to tack onto the end of the last chapter. 
> 
> Warnings: none

Gamora groaned. "We left the Milano on Xandar. All of our gear is on the Milano, Peter."

Quill's hand dove towards his hip to touch a small device he had hooked to his belt; his fleeting panicked expression faded. Garthan wasn't sure what to make of the action. Quill bit his lip sheepishly. "We can figure something out."

"There is no way Nova Corps is going to let us go back to Xandar, pick up _another_ ship, stolen or not, and take off again," Gamora said.

"Hey, it’s not my fault. Talk to the guy who can’t stick to a plan." Quill gestured at Garthan.

"What you had was not a plan. If you had thought ahead at all, you would've parked your ship off the Way Station and caught a ferry to Xandar."

"Oh, can you two quit it!" Gamora faced Garthan. "You have exactly zero authority among us, Saal, so stop throwing your weight around." She pointed at Peter. "And you. You are responsible for this mess. We didn't need to come here. We can kill Onchi without his help."

"This is the way Dey asked us to do it."

"Are we Nova Corps' lackeys, then?"

"You could hardly do worse if you were," Garthan said dryly.

"A career soldier like you has no right to talk. You've been blindly following orders your whole life."

"Can I take that to mean you had your eyes wide open when you were killing people for Thanos?"

It was extremely lucky for Garthan that his new nervous system, however glitchy it might be, was a hair faster than a typical Xandarian’s, because otherwise his reflexes, sluggish from too many months trapped in a hospital bed, would probably not have been enough to stop Gamora from slicing open his chest with her knife. [Where the _hell_ had she pulled it from?] She moved like lightning: in an instant she had crossed the distance between them and swept her weapon towards Garthan. He twisted, putting his less vulnerable left side forward and stopping the blade of the knife with his bare hand, before striking the heel of his right hand towards her throat and catching her instead heavily on the collarbone. Bad aim on both counts; he really needed to start training again. It all happened in about four seconds; they both remained frozen that way.

Garthan’s face was merely inches away from Gamora’s. She glared at him like a feral spirit and he met her gaze. He said very, very softly: “You don’t scare me, Gamora, I already died once.”

“Don’t ever speak to me again.” Gamora stepped away, pulling her knife away without waiting for him to loosen his grip on it.

Rocket broke the silence. “We’re not even going to get out of the quadrant before you three kill each other.”

Quill threw his hands up. “Okay! You were right. Rules. Rule number three: nobody gets to kill anybody else. Okay? Got it?” He waited until each one of them nodded. “Saal, stay out of everybody’s way, okay? We’re a team; you don’t get how we work.”

“Where exactly, on a ship this size, am I supposed to avoid you all?”

“You know what? Take the damn commander’s cabin, okay? Do us all a favor, and don’t come out.”

It seemed very appropriate to Garthan, who realized that he was essentially a prisoner, albeit a stupid one that had walked into his own cell. He nodded.

“Denarian Saal, your hand. Is it not inured?” said Drax.

Garthan glanced at his palm for the first time since Gamora sliced it open. There was no blood, just a clean, deep gash through the synthetic skin and muscle down to the metal structure underneath. A few paper-thin bundles of wire, each individual one not more than a few molecules in diameter, were exposed to the open air. Garthan had no idea how to fix it. He didn’t really care.

“Not at all. Do you all want to know why?” Garthan’s voice was even and indifferent. He cast his hand out before of them, palm up. “Because it’s made of plastic and titanium, and it’s the price I paid for _blindly following_ six outlaws into battle to save my planet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So things got real… I don’t think people think enough about the fact that all those Nova Corps soldiers just threw themselves at Ronan on the strength of Dey’s gut feeling in order to give Quill, who is not only a criminal but also not even Xandarian, a chance at saving their planet.


	8. Fracturing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garthan and Rocket have a chat and important things are left unsaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So my updating policy is that stuff goes up as soon as it’s ready. Cons: some days you get no updates. Pros: today you get two updates.
> 
> Warnings: unpleasant flashbacks, descriptions of nightmares, subtle depression

_“Denarian Garthan Saal, you are currently in the intensive care wing of Norak Military Hospital. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?”_

_“The blockade breaking. What happened? Is Ronan defeated? Where is my battalion?”_

_“Xandar is safe. Ronan was defeated. I’m afraid you’re a little behind the times, Denarian, so please be patient. I have some very important things to explain to you.”_

_“I promise you, I’ve heard it all before. I’m extremely lucky to be alive, I’m not allowed to check myself out, you’re going to keep me here for several more weeks than is necessary, and at some point one of your nurses will forget I’m allergic to morphine and there’ll be hell to pay. Just tell me what’s wrong and when I can expect to be back in the field again.”_

_“And I’ve heard that you’re an unholy terror of a patient. But I’m afraid this hospital stay is not going to be like your other ones. My name is Dr. Chandra, and you are quite the extraordinary case.”_

* * *

Garthan had mixed feelings about sleep. For one thing, since the battle, he’d spent more time asleep than awake, though not voluntarily. It felt wasteful, somehow, to sleep more than absolutely necessary. Garthan certainly no longer slept in any kind of regular pattern, but his reactions to anesthesia had caused the doctors to forbid him from taking anything for insomnia. When he did sleep, he could usually count on waking up from a nightmare or two.

* * *

_“Chandra, the prostheses I understand—and so help me you had better start telling me what you’re replacing_ before _you replace it—but how do you replace someone’s entire nervous system? I mean, if it was that damaged, wouldn’t I be dead already?”_

_“That is what the Nova Force is for, Saal. Nova Prime has authorized the use of quite a lot of it on you. But it’s only a temporary solution. The nerve implants I’ve designed will be much better. I’m sure you’re getting tired of being paralyzed, no?”_

_“You have no idea.”_

* * *

Garthan didn’t have nightmares about the battle.

The Nova Corps shrinks didn’t believe it and Garthan eventually got tired of explaining that he’d been in battles before [though nothing close to that size]—felt sure he was about to _die_ before—and as far as he was concerned the Battle for Xandar had not given him any more scars than any of his previous engagements had: just a general anxiety and an increasingly low tolerance for phrases like “acceptable casualties” and “collateral damage.”

* * *

_“I refuse to talk to them. Between you, and your damn implants, and going into surgery every week, I cannot handle these idiot therapists. I’m not joking, Chandra. I would rather go crazy.”_

_“Saal, sometimes I’m not sure you aren’t already. I don’t know anyone who could come out of a six month coma, go through this many rejections, and still not give up.”_

_“I’m Nova Corps. We don’t give up.”_

_“You don’t give up on anything except therapy sessions.”_

_“Forgive me for not laughing, but you forgot to replace my sense of humor when you were doing everything else.”_

* * *

Garthan didn’t have nightmares about the battle or about feeling his connection with the rest of his battalion wink out soldier by soldier as the blockade fell or about being crushed inside his Nova fighter. What woke him up shaking in the middle of the night was everything that had come after.

* * *

_“I promise the implants will take this time, Saal.”_

_“You said that last time.”_

* * *

Despite all the reasons to hate sleeping and cherish insomnia, some days being awake was even worse—days when Garthan was so tired of dealing with everything that he wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. Today was definitely one of those days. Unfortunately, Garthan could only pace in the tiny commander’s cabin of the Admantine, his thoughts and emotions swirling too quickly for him to even hope for sleep. He should never have let himself be dragged along on this adventure; he certainly shouldn’t have actively helped Quill and his thugs get away with stealing a state-of-the-art destroyer. The day had dissolved into a mess the likes of which he hadn’t seen since the fiasco with Korel, and this time it was his fault.

Garthan held his left palm up to inspect it yet again, shifting it back and forth to catch the exposed circuitry in the light. Out in space, he wasn’t sure what to do about it. Back on Xandar, Dr. Chandra would have fixed it. Once, the second time he’d been released from the hospital, he’d tripped while trying to navigate his living room and shattered his glass table, filling his calf with shards of glass. He’d panicked—cue nerve implants failing. Dr. Chandra fixed the leg but decided to keep Garthan in the hospital for several weeks more.

* * *

_“I can’t do anything with him, Dama. If he refuses to move I can’t test the implants.”_

_“You can hardly blame him, can you? What is this, number seven, now?”_

_“They would work fine if he could stop having these anxiety attacks. There’s no medical reason for them, and he refuses to talk to a psychiatrist.”_

_“Leave him with me, Dr. Chandra.”_

_“Very well.”_

_“Morning, Saal. I have a surprise for you.”_

_“Not interested—Oomphh!—What the hell was that?”_

_“Getting you out of bed. Now stand up so we can figure out what still works and what doesn’t.”_

_“What’s the point?”_

_“You’re alive. That’s the point. You can walk and move and feel pain and you’ve given a hell of a fight to get that way. Are you just going to give it up?”_

* * *

It seemed like no matter what Garthan did, some part of him was always about to fall apart.

* * *

_"What about you, Dama? What would you call my_ miraculous recovery _?"_

_"I'd call it a second chance."_

* * *

Second chance to do what?

Garthan had not been able to find an answer to that question since Nova Prime told him he was out of Nova Corps. He had thought, briefly and furtively so he wouldn’t actually have to admit it to himself, that coming along on this mission Dey had organized with Quill would be something worth… well, something. But it was not. Garthan had never seen a more dysfunctional group in his life. It was like being in a ship full of feral animals.

His hands were shaking, Garthan noticed, the left one more than the right. Probably adrenaline or something, since he was fairly sure the nerve implants were fine. Checking on them was tricky, since they worked like breathing did—the less he thought about them, the better they worked. He had something to take for an adrenaline rush, anyway. Garthan stopped pacing abruptly as he realized his meds were not on the Admantine. They were with the three or four bundles of supplies Gamora, Rocket and Groot had tucked into their cab, presumably to take back to their Milano; Garthan remembered because he recalled wondering if the Guardians of the Galaxy were carrying even more contraband than their blatantly illegal weapons.

“Hey Saal, let me in, huh?”

Garthan turned to the door at the sound of Rocket’s muffled voice. He was too short to show up in the view screen. “Unlock,” Garthan said.

Rocket slipped inside, and flopped himself onto the bunk like he owned it. As usual he did not bother to get to the point. “Not bad. I think me ‘n Groot would fit in here nicely.”

“Not with me in here you won’t.”

Rocket grinned. “Then you better hope the passcode you set up is too hard for me to crack.”

“Do you see anything that you don’t immediately have to the urge to steal?”

“You just wanna suck the joy out of everything, don’t ya? I already fixed the intercom so Quill can play his music and the software isn’t complete crap so there’s nothing to do there”—Garthan took this to mean that Vakiri’s software was excellent enough that Rocket couldn’t find anything to fix about it—“and all of my shit is on the Milano, so I’m bored.”

“So you decided to pester me.”

In a moment, Rocket jumped off the bunk and grabbed Garthan’s left hand, using his weight to pull Garthan down to his level. “So how far does it go?” he asked, inspecting Garthan’s palm.

Garthan pulled his hand away sharply. “All the way up the arm.”—and quite a bit further, but Garthan wasn’t mentioning that—“Don’t touch me.”

“How am I supposed to fix it if ya won’t let me look?”

“I’m not interested in becoming your next engineering project.”

“What the hell is up with you?”

 “What’s up with me? I’ve spent the last cycle and a half having people take me apart and put me back together again. I don’t expect any of _you_ to understand.”

Rocket crossed his arms, hackles raised. “Saal, I’m gonna give ya three seconds to think about what you just said and take it back.”

* * *

_“What exactly are you, Rocket?”_

_“Nothing. An accident. I mean, ‘designed’ a bit too high-faluting a word for my case, ain’t it? There wasn’t a recipe. They were just fucking around.”_

* * *

Garthan sighed. “Damn. Rocket, I’m sorry.”

He did not look completely soothed. “Yeah whatever. You know, we ain’t the Nova Corps.”

“That is glaringly obvious.”

“Yeah, well, stop acting like it isn’t. Shit happened. You can’t be _Denarian_ Saal anymore. So find something else.”

Garthan shook his head. He’d been in the Nova Corps since he was seventeen. There wasn’t anything else he knew how to be. “That’s who I am. I’m not going to change it for a bunch of outlaws.”

“Dammit, this is what I get for tryin to be nice. Overrated if you ask me.” Rocket stalked to the door. “The destroyer wasn’t equipped for our little road trip so we’re stopping on Volta Six to get supplies. It’s a two and a half day trip, and less risky than stopping at the Way Station. Let me know if there’s anything you need, and I’ll _think_ about adding it to the list.” He left.

Garthan realized afterwards that he should have told Rocket about his meds. They were, if Garthan had understood Chandra right, rather basic stimulant-depressant cocktails that didn’t take a special pharm-lab to put together. He could get them at the Way Station, a colossal space station and customs checkpoint just inside Xandarian space that had long ago morphed into its own municipality with internal commerce, crime and government. The Way Station was only a few hours away.

Or he could wait for Volta Six. Garthan wasn’t even sure exactly what would happen if he went without his meds for that long. In that moment, however, Garthan didn’t have the energy to care. He sank onto his bunk, wishing he could fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So how do folks feel about a podfic version of this fic?
> 
> Bonus reference to Space Odyssey 2001 in the flashbacks. Who can name it?
> 
> So, therapists are actually very helpful creatures if you can find a good one and money to pay them. They can help with any number of things, including grief and depression, which Saal is having a hard time dealing with.
> 
> Dr. Chandra is a bit of a jerk because he is wrapped up a little too tightly in his research instead of his patients. Nurse Dama keeps him and Garthan from killing each other, though.


	9. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So tell me: do any one of you actually sleep through the night?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: PSTD and nightmares for everyone, light aro-erasure, discussion of non-binary pronouns

Four hours later Quill banged on Garthan’s door. “Saal! Your not-girlfriend is on the phone for you and she’s really pissed off.”

Garthan could not think what the hell Quill was talking about until he got out to the cockpit and saw Rocket arguing with Vakiri on the view screen.

“Listen, lady, I don’t know how you got the contact signal for this ship but—”

“ _I_ designed it. Now where is the stars-damned son of a bitch that stole my ship?”

Quill glanced at Garthan. “You know, it’s weird hearing that and having it not apply to me.”

Garthan slid into the copilot’s chair where Vakiri could see him. “I can explain.”

“I know you can explain. You’d never do anything as monumentally stupid as stealing the Admantine if you didn’t have a good reason. Of course you can explain—which is why you could have explained _before_ you stole my ship!”

“I didn’t want you to get in trouble with Nova Corps.”

“How much trouble do think I’ll be in if Nova Corps ever finds out that I have the remote access IDs for the Admantine?”

Rocket made a small noise of surprise and rapidly summoned a second view screen. “Holy shit, you have remote self-destruct on this baby. How did I miss that?”

“Imagine if I’d given the access codes to Nova Corps already.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine because they would all be specks of debris.  “I’m sorry, Ala. I didn’t think things through.”

“You didn’t think things through? The end of the world must coming.”

“You’re not going to give them the access codes, are you?” Quill asked.

“No. I’m still mad, but no. Garthan, if there is a scratch on her when you bring her back…”

“There won’t be. Thank you.” An idea occurred to Garthan. “Could you send those codes to Denarian Rhomann Dey, privately? He’ll need to be able to contact us.”

“Fine. Do I get to know what you’re doing with my baby?”

Quill leaned down so Vakiri could see him, stealing half of Garthan’s screen. “Hero stuff. Top secret. Don’t worry. We’ll bring back your ship and your squeeze in one piece.”

“My what—? Garthan?” Vakiri laughed. “Oh stars no, Garthan only wants me for my ships, isn’t that right?”

“And because you’re considerably less exasperating that _some_ people I know.” Garthan shot a significant look at Quill.

Vakiri laughed again. “Play nice, especially with my Admantine.” She cut the call.

“Alright, then. Shut her down for the night, Rocket. Let’s hit the sack.”

“You’re not running through the night?” Garthan asked.

“When are we supposed to sleep?” Quill replied.

“You could take it in shifts. You’d make better time.” It was standard procedure in Nova Corps; it had never occurred to Garthan that other spacers might do it differently.

Quill made a face. “That would be too much like work.”

“So let me fly.”

“You want to fly all night while we’re sleeping and sleep all day while we’re up?”

“Think of it this way: you can pretend I’m not here.”

Quill grinned. “Deal. Volta’s coordinates are already in the nav system. Don’t crash us.”

Rocket yawned as Quill left the cockpit. “Guess what?” he said, ambling towards the exit.

“What?”

“I cracked your passcode.”

“Rocket!” Garthan called after Rocket to stay out of his room, but Rocket just laughed and called for Groot. Unwilling to chase the little fiend down, Garthan switched to the pilot’s seat and turned up the thrusters. Damn, this was a gorgeous ship. Garthan ached to test her out, but rapid maneuvers at high velocity would likely tick off the others. He settled for just cruising.

For the next two days, they settled into a mostly calm pattern. Rocket and Groot did indeed steal the commander’s cabin, but by the time Garthan handed over the controls to Quill each morning everyone was up, and sleeping in the crew’s dorm was no problem for Garthan when he actually managed to sleep. Gamora ignored his presence completely, Quill and Drax were reserved, and Rocket continued being Rocket. It so close and yet still so far from having a real crew again that it almost hurt.

Another pattern began as well. It started with Quill, on that very first night.

Garthan had been hungry, and so set the controls to automatic while he searched the ship for the emergency cache. There was obviously no food on board, but standard emergency caches had nutrient tabs for occasions where a ship got marooned without power for long periods. Nutrient tabs were disgusting, but it was okay because one kept you going quite a while. He left them out for the others.

Quill came up from the dorm just as Garthan was returning to the cockpit—they ran into each other. While Garthan managed to stay on his feet, Quill sank to the floor of the narrow corridor, muttering unintelligibly. “Watch it!” Garthan snapped. There was a pause. “Are you alright?”

“Purple,” the man muttered.

Frowning, Garthan leaned down to Quill’s level just as Quill decided to get up, and Garthan got clapped hard in mouth. With a curse he scrambled out of Quill’s way and followed him at a safe distance into the cargo hold. Quill ran into several walls as he staggered along. Sleepwalking, then.

Quill met a corner, slid down to the ground and curled up into a ball. Garthan debated letting him be, but no matter how unlike Garthan’s usual crews this one was Garthan was not the type to leave a crew member in distress. Very carefully this time, he knelt down next to Quill.

“Can’t let it touch the ground…” Quill was muttering.

Garthan jogged the Terran’s shoulder. “Quill.”

Harder and louder this time. “Peter, wake up.”

Quill jerked awake, and his hand jumped automatically towards his hip. “What…?”

Garthan gave him some space, walking away to retrieve one of the nutrient tablets he’d left out. “You were walking in your sleep. Have one of these.” He tossed it at Quill.

Quill gave Garthan an odd look and then popped it in his mouth absently. His expression soured and he finally looked fully awake. “Shit, that’s disgusting.”

“You alright?”

Quill frowned suspiciously at him. “Of course I’m alright, unless you count dying from the grossness of whatever that was.” His tone screamed _don’t you dare ask_.

Garthan didn’t. “Emergency rations.”

Several hours later, Drax came out wordlessly from the dorm and glanced inside the cockpit. When he caught Garthan’s eye he nodded, still said nothing, and then stepped down the corridor [Garthan had to lean far out of his seat to see around the corner] to open the door to the commander’s cabin and peek inside. That done, he returned to the dorm. It was strangely like he was checking to make sure everyone was still there. He did it the next night, as well.

By the time Garthan gave the controls to Quill a mere two hours later—without a word spoken of Quill’s little excursion—Garthan’s hands had finally stopped trembling, but the left one was extremely sluggish. It was a feeling Garthan hadn’t had since the very first months of learning how to use his prostheses. He was also keenly feeling the lack of his suppressants—things were louder, brighter, faster, sharper than usual. He killed the lights in the dorm, shut the door to muffle the sound of that unholy racket Quill insisted on calling music, and fell into a bunk, letting his worries drift him to sleep.

The next night Garthan’s left hand had frozen like a wax figure’s but he managed not to bring attention to it or to his nervousness about going without his meds. They were almost at Volta Six, anyway.

In the middle of the night a short, cut-off shriek sounded from the dorm. Throwing the ship into auto, Garthan went to investigate and was nearly barreled over by Gamora as she tore down the corridor towards the cargo hold. Quill stuck his head out after her but didn’t follow.

When Garthan met his gaze, Quill shook his head. “Don’t follow her. She doesn’t like it.”

Garthan went back to the cockpit, although he didn’t relax completely until Gamora had returned to the dorm.

Groot was next, although Garthan wasn’t sure the plantoid had actually had a nightmare since he didn’t seem distressed. He just crept silently into the cockpit and scared the hell out of Garthan.

“Stars, it’s just you,” Garthan murmured.

“I am Groot,” said the plantoid softly. He was definitely more than a foot shorter than Garthan remembered—instead of a giant he was more or less Garthan’s height.

“I know. Didn’t you used to be taller? Meaner looking?”

“I am Groot.”

“You said that.”

There was a pause. Garthan took a break from the controls to massage his left hand. Groot moved to stand just behind Garthan’s chair.

“So tell me: do any of you actually sleep through the night?” Garthan had to twist around to talk to Groot, since he is seemed determined to all but hang on the back of Garthan's seat.

“I am Groot.”

Garthan blinked. “You don’t say anything else, do you?”

Groot smiled broadly. Some conversation partner.

"I wonder where Rocket picked you up."

"Ze picked me up. Right after that trial you got me, which you enjoyed way too much by the way.”

"Ze?"

Rocket didn't take the cue from Garthan's whisper and continued at normal conversational volume, which was just about tortuous for Garthan. His hearing was so sensitive by now that Garthan could hear Groot's roots rasp together as he—ze?—moved. All of his senses were unbearably sharp; he had the control board dimmed as far as possible and touched it only when necessary. Even his clothes were uncomfortable. Garthan was infinitely grateful that the Admantine was brand new and was nearly devoid of odor beyond what five people living without a change of clothes for almost three days had managed to inflict on her.

"Groot. Ze used to prefer _it_ , being a plant and all, but then one time I got a little angry when some jerk used it on me and ze decided ze didn’t like it anymore."

"A little angry?" As far as Garthan knew, Rocket had two moods—mildly annoyed and incredibly pissed—and no in-between.

Rocket shrugged. "I may have shot her in the gut. Perfectly reasonable reaction. Anyway, ze and I were cooling our heels in the same prison. Poor sap had no idea what a prison was, I guess. Ze stopped to say hello to every single bastard in the place and then tried to leave.”

Garthan winced. He couldn't handle Rocket's volume any longer. "Softly! Keep your voice down."

"What's up?"

"I'm twenty six hours late for my last set of neural suppressants."

Rocket started to swear—loudly—but caught himself and just whispered furiously. "Why the fuck didn't you mention we left your meds?"

"It's fine. We're only six hours out of Volta Six."

"And are you going to die or something before we get there? What else are you taking?"

"Regularly? Just some anti-rejection meds. Don't worry about it."

"The fuck I'm worried. I just don't want the last three days going to waste. You’re not getting yourself killed on my watch." Rocket's volume raised ever so slightly.

"If anything was going to go seriously wrong, it would have happened in the first few hours after my last dose wore off. It'll be fine." That, at least, was what Garthan had been telling himself.

"Bullshit."

"Well there's nothing you can do about it, is there?"

"Why didn't you mention it in the first place?"

Garthan hesitated. The first night on the Admantine, he could’ve mentioned it, but at the time risking his health had seemed a better option than looking vulnerable in the eyes of a group of people who so clearly couldn’t stand him. "It slipped my mind."

Rocket crossed his arms. "Slipped your mind?"

"Yes." Not so much slipped Garthan's mind as had been forcibly pushed out, but by the time Garthan had changed his mind the Admantine had already been far past the Way Station.

"Are all Nova Corpsmen as batshit crazy as you are?"

"I don’t know what your standard for crazy is, hamster, but you're probably not someone who should be pointing fingers.”

“At least I can still point my fingers.”

Trust Rocket to notice that Garthan wasn’t using his left hand. Garthan scowled. He ought to ask Rocket to fix it. The idea of giving yet another person power over his body like that was frightening, though. Why should he trust Rocket?

* * *

_“Denarian! They’re diving-bombing the city. Should we break formation?”_

_“No. We have to hold the blockade.”_

_“Sir, it’ll be a massacre down there.”_

_“I_ know _. I repeat: do not break formation.”_

_“Saal, we got ya covered down here. Just keep Ronan off the ground.”_

_“Thank the stars.”_

* * *

Rocket was a thug, a criminal and thief. He was disrespectful and unruly. He was also one of very few people who took Garthan exactly how he was. “Rocket, if you would fix my hand, I would appreciate it.”

“I dunno. I’ve got a lot of _engineering projects_ on my plate right now.”

“Well, if it’s too difficult a problem for you—”

“I didn’t say that! Give it here.”

“Oh no, not now. I can’t handle anyone touching me right now. After Volta Six.”

“I am Groot.”

“Ze’s got a point. Shit like this wouldn’t happen if we all knew exactly what is wrong with ya. It’d be a lot easier for you to just tell us.”

_Everything_ was wrong with Garthan. “It wouldn’t be easier for me.”

“Whatever. Groot and I are going to reprogram the intercom so that all of Quill’s music plays backwards.”

“Can’t sleep?”

Rocket crossed his arms a little too defiantly. “What makes you think that?”

“Oh, it’s just a pattern I’ve noticed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So there is no way in hell the Guardians go through the shit they did without issues, and I thought a bit about how each of their nightmares would manifest. Quill sleepwalks because it was something I did as a kid when I was stressed and I feel like Quill’s development was put on permanent hold in some areas when Yondu picked him up. Drax checks to make sure everyone is still alive in the night because he dreams that they’ve all been killed while he was sleeping, like my headcanon for his family’s death. Gamora has many things to give her nightmares, and as a fighter, she gets an extreme fight-or-flight response that wakes her up. She ‘flees’ rather than ‘fights’ because she fights so much while awake. Groot is very in tune with zir friends’ emotions and cannot sleep when they cannot. Rocket gets insomnia, like Saal. They both try to deny a lot of their anxieties during the day and cannot relax enough to sleep at night as a result.
> 
> Groot is a plant. I think it is absurd to treat ze as male. I also think ze is smart enough to realize that many people do not mean well when they call someone “it” and so rejects it as a pronoun. The specific pronouns ze uses are ze, zir, zirs in the place of he, him, his.


	10. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not taking your medication is always a bad idea. Even for badasses like Saal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Beware, folks: PLOT is coming.
> 
> Warnings: legit panic attack, description of sensory overstimulation, light ableism

Garthan woke to the excruciating sound of Quill's music running backwards, garnished with Quill's loudly shouted opinions of Rocket's face, ancestry and sexual habits.

Garthan was sure it could have been only an hour at most since he gave Rocket the controls and decided to try to sleep before they arrived at Volta Six. With Garthan’s luck, he wouldn't be able to get to sleep again even if Quill shut up. How lovely. Already his head was throbbing. Garthan debated just lying still and trying to block everything out for as long as possible, but now Rocket had joined the argument loudly and for Nova's sake didn't he remember the warning Garthan gave him not even three hours ago?

It was no good. He was going to have to get up and kill Quill—and possibly Rocket too. His head felt like an eggshell trying to box an anvil. Stars, those suppressants could not come a moment too soon.

Or too late, rather, since Garthan's attempt to get out of his bunk ended with a shrieking refusal from his entire left side, which seized up like a set of gears locking into place, at just the right moment to cause Garthan to completely lose his balance. Hitting the dorm floor felt like a shot from an energy weapon at close range.Between the continued noise—although _noise_ wasn't a big enough word for something _that_ loud—from the cockpit, and the pain erupting in what must have been every artificial synapse he had, Garthan could hardly think.

Going without meds had been a colossally stupid idea. Garthan had thought he'd get away with it when the most he'd suffered up until last night had been extreme sensitivity and migraines. The prostheses had given him no problems—well, except for his hand—but apparently the anti-rejection shot was the type of drug that wore off all at once. Garthan was losing his connection with half of his body, and the other half was too hypersensitive to even imagine moving or shouting for help.

He was helpless.

Garthan gripped the side of his bunk with his right hand, even though the metal felt so ice-cold it burned, because the fact that the hand actually still responded to him was reassuring, and Garthan needed everything he could get to keep his head just now. The sensations were all in his head. He just had to stay calm.

* * *

_"Nurse Dama, I just don't understand. He spent months on end completely unable to move after he woke and only now that he’s walking again does he start having anxiety attacks at the slightest restriction in his movement."_

_"Doctor, losing something twice is much harder than losing it once. The first time, the unknown protects you. The second time, you know exactly how horrible it is going to be."_

* * *

The thing about Chandra's nerve implants was that when they worked, they worked too well. Garthan's brain—which, fortunately, Chandra had not tried to “fix” in any manner—couldn't sort through the mass of information coming in. Chandra referred to it as 'overcorrection' and Garthan referred to it as a fucking mess. Hence the suppressants. In a fit of magnanimity, Chandra had allowed Garthan to dictate his own doses. So Garthan knew, to a degree, how to deal with the oversensitivity. It was painful and disorienting, but so was a gut-shot from a bio-laser or the shockwave from an energy grenade, and Garthan had dealt with those and more in the Nova Corps.

* * *

_"If you take that much, you're going to be blind for two days."_

_"I'm experimenting. Really, Chandra, a researcher like yourself should be able to appreciate the scientific method.”_

_“I can appreciate that you’re_ bored _, but I’m not releasing you for another two weeks no matter how much chaos you and Dama cause.”_

* * *

What Garthan could never quite handle was the feeling of being trapped in an unresponsive body, whether it was a glitch in his prostheses or the nerve implants failing again. He always, always panicked. He should’ve been able to get over it, or work through it like everything else. Panicking could knock the nerve implants out of sync _again_ and that always resulted in a much more complete paralysis. There would be no Chandra on Volta Six to put Garthan back together if he lost control right now.

If only the world would slow down long enough for him to breathe and think.

* * *

_“Think of something familiar to ground you. If you can’t tell what’s real or not then impose your own reality until you can.”_

_“That’s very abstract advice.”_

_“You’re a pilot, aren’t you, Saal?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Then fly. Take a cruiser out to the Way Station in your mind.”_

* * *

Garthan tried. Think about the Admantine. Quill’s music was still blasting but all Garthan heard was undecipherable white noise. He was shaking. If Quill wanted to dodge the customs station he’d have to come in above-axis and coast on—remember to _breathe_ —coast on the reverse thrusters to keep off the sensors. Please don’t panic. It was a tricky descent because of the planet’s magnetic pole; he’d have to correct for it by… doing something. Stars help him, he was losing it…

Someone walked into the dorm. The sound of boots clacking absurdly loudly made Garthan wince, and it was just odd enough that he decided the sound might actually be real and opened his eyes. A blur of green and magenta in the dark. Gamora. Why couldn’t it be Rocket? _She_ ’d tried to kill Garthan two days ago and hadn’t so much as looked at him since.

Any port in a storm.

Garthan was lucky the only thing Chandra had replaced in his jaw was the actual bone, otherwise he never would have been able to grit out her name. It sounded like a shout to his own ears but Garthan knew it was probably not much more than a rasp.

“Gamora.”

Boots stopped clacking and the green-magenta blur froze. There was a long pause. It felt long, anyway.

“Wh—uy2ul UWdi du38—wrong—Kfui u491a—you?” Too much white noise.

Boots clacking. Was she leaving? Stars, don’t let her leave. Suddenly all of his vision was green-magenta blur. He caught sight of a flash that may have been eyes. She’d knelt down next to him, then. Gamora was real. Focus on Gamora. Sort out her voice.

“4d5 Hsce5—lost a lot more—VTud y3IG—that hand, didn’t—gbu7Y?”

If Gamora walked away to get Rocket Garthan missed it, but suddenly Quill’s music and the shouting stopped. Unfortunately, Garthan was too quickly losing all connection with reality and he was unable to sort out or respond to the voices that replaced them.

* * *

_"What's the matter, Corpsman?"_

_"Nothing, sir. I'm fine."_

_"Then who are you avoiding?"_

_"No one! No one, sir."_

_"Nobody_ volunteers _to take the overnight shift with me, Corpsman."_

_"You're not that bad, sir."_

_"I must be losing my touch, then."_

_"I dunno, maybe if you didn't look so exasperated all the time..."_

_"I am simply reacting to a world full of exasperating things. Like corpsmen who don't answer direct questions from their commanding officer."_

_"Alright, I'm avoiding someone. But it’s not a big deal! If I try and do anything it'll just get worse. It's not disrupting the crew, I promise."_

_"On the contrary, if you keep volunteering for my watch shift, I won't be able to use it as punishment anymore."_

* * *

Garthan had a hard time figuring out if he was properly conscious again, because one of several voices he could now detect was, strangely enough, Dr. Chandra’s.

“Is he coming back round, then? Not a bad call on those doses, Racket.”

“It’s Rocket, asshole.”

“I was close enough.”

“Uh, Denarian, no offense, but Saal is way more high maintenance than you said he was.”

“Oh stars, if you’ve been making puns like that I’m not surprised he’s been hard to get along with. Quill, you promised to look out for him.”

Oh, and there was Dey. Something was definitely up.

Garthan was a little disoriented, possibly dreaming, but his thoughts were running in a logical order and his ears didn’t feel like they were going to combust, so he risked opening his eyes.

Oh. Garthan was back in his bunk, surrounded by Rocket, Groot and Quill. Quill was fidgeting with a hand communicator that was projecting a joint video call with both Dey and Chandra. Garthan could move once more, even his left hand, and the first thing he did was inspect the jagged, surreal looking scar-line crossing it.

“Hey Saal,” Quill said brightly. “Got someone here who really wants to yell at you.”

Garthan shook his head quickly but Quill flipped over the communicator to show him Dr. Chandra anyway. Chandra was wearing a look that clearly said he was _done with Garthan’s shit_. “Care to explain why you left the planet without telling me or taking your medication with you?”

At least _that_ was not his fault. It was Quill and Dey’s hare-brained scheme. _Dey._ Let him try and explain this madness. “That’s Dey’s fault. A fact which he and I will be discussing in great detail.”

Unfortunately, Garthan had long ago lost the ability to intimidate Dey, and Chandra was not about to be interrupted so easily. “Oh no, you don’t get to scold anyone right now. Not when I was just pulled away from three other patients by Denarian Dey, who tells me that I have to treat you for extreme withdrawal and catastrophic rejection from three star systems away with only a mouthy ex-con for an assistant. What the hell were you thinking? Are you trying ruin all the work I’ve done?”

Garthan was very aware that Quill and his entire gang was in the room. “Chandra, I’m fine now. You fixed it. You’re a brilliant doctor. I won’t do it again.” Garthan willed Chandra to keep his mouth shut. As always, Chandra managed to do exactly the opposite of what Garthan wanted.

“Saal, if you reject those implants again there is no ship in the galaxy fast enough to get me to you before you _die_. Do you understand that?”

“Yes!” Garthan hissed.

“What exactly is wrong with him?” Quill asked.

Chandra glanced between Garthan and Quill, and Garthan remembered that Chandra was legally prevented from answering the question except in emergencies. He was silently asking for permission. Garthan shook his head.

“I could decide you’re a danger to yourself, you know,” Chandra said. It was a threat Chandra had made before when he thought Garthan was being unreasonable. Garthan had added a memo to his Nova Corps file that gave Dey the right to make medical decisions on Garthan’s behalf in case he was unable to, and Chandra considered Dey to be far more reasonable than Garthan was. [Dey had been rather pathetically choked up when he found out about the memo. Garthan just thought it was more practical than leaving things to chance—or to Chandra’s judgment.] “I’m not permitted to tell you, Mr. Quinn, but it is my medical opinion that you should harass Saal until _he_ does. Saal, make sure you use that left hand more often to get it acclimatized again. Now I have to return to the patients who actually listen to me.”

Chandra cut the line, leaving Dey alone on the screen. “You have a lot of explaining to do,” Saal told him.

“Saal, we’ll talk, but right now, I have to go. I’ve been on this call for the last three hours and I’m busy doing a lot of damage control here.”

“For what?”

“Something is going on with the centurions and Nova Prime. They’ve been antsy for a while now, and it’s gotten worse since you all left Xandar.” Dey glanced at Quill. “Not to mention that I’m semi-responsible for everything you get up to in Xandarian space. Remember when I told you how stealing was illegal?”

“Yeah, our plan didn’t exactly pan out like it was supposed to,” Quill said.

“Do they usually?”

“Yeah, okay, I get the point. The hero thing needs work.” Quill stood up, looking more frustrated than perhaps the situation called for. “Look, you have places to be, we have supplies to get, and Saal has shit to brood about. Talk later. Bye.” Quill cut Dey off mid-reply and threw the communicator onto an empty bunk. “I’m going out to get our stuff. Rocket, make sure that Commander Spock here doesn’t manage to hurt himself. Groot, keep Rocket from blowing up the ship. Drax, you’re with me.”

“Great, babysitting duty,” Rocket said as Quill stormed out. “We’ve been docked on Volta Six for over three hours and I still haven’t set foot off this damn ship. What’s is Quill’s problem now?”

“I am Groot.”

“Guilty? What the hell is he feeling guilty for? Never mind. Gamora—”

“I’ll go after them and make sure they don’t get us barred from _another_ planet.”

Rocket shrugged. “I was gonna ask ya to watch Saal.”

 “I don’t need _watching_.”

Gamora snorted and left. Garthan didn’t know whether her derision had been directed at him or Rocket but he supposed it was all the same. “Are you all usually this disorganized, or is it just because you’re stuck with me?”

Rocket shrugged. “Eh, probably both. We’re not exactly saints, you know, and you’re way more of a bastard than when I first met ya.”

Garthan was afraid that was probably true, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it. Pushing people away had become his default reaction to everything. “Chandra said you helped him.”

“Who else was gonna? Gamora’s the only other one with body mods and hers are self-maintaining, fancy as hell.”

“Thanks.”

“Whatever, man. I didn’t thank you for the trial, so we’re square.” Rocket gave Garthan a sneaky grin. “You wanna help me make a bomb?”

“No! _Why_? With what?”

Rocket sauntered towards the door. “Oh, you know… pieces of the engine.” He took off.

Garthan was after him in a second, moving flawlessly. “Rocket! You cannot take apart this ship. Vakiri will kill me!”

“Try and stop me, old man!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I watched GotG again for inspiration. I have such fun stuff planned. The plot is starting to come together…
> 
> So this panic attack is not necessarily how panic attacks IRL go down. It’s how Saal has them, and his trigger is not being able to move. Panic attacks are a real medical condition and you should not feel guilty [as Saal does] for not being able to ignore them or will them away. The strategy for working through a panic attack detailed here is a little embellished from what they actually recommend: focus on what is real around you. Since Saal’s overstimulation makes that difficult, I gave him a different coping strategy.
> 
> Also, two things about medication: if you don’t what you’re doing, don’t fuck around with your meds. If you do know what you’re doing, don’t let other people, even doctors, fuck around with your meds.
> 
> I hope ya’ll are paying attention when Groot talks, cause he don’t say anything that’s not important [haha].
> 
> Dey is Saal’s best friend, even if Saal’s too unsentimental to act like it. Saal trusts him, which why he gives Dey medical authority—not because it’s “more practical.” Ya’ll gotta watch out for those unreliable narrators…


	11. Respect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drax offers to spar with Garthan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: instances of ableism

They were staying overnight on Volta Six. Quill had stormed in and out of the ship all day, accompanied by various members of his team, buying and loading supplies. Some of it was obviously hot if not directly stolen, like the half dozen energy weapons and the remote explosives. Rocket picked over them critically and asked who Quill had gotten them off of—“Vermeil? Well he’s not bad. I promise he overcharged ya though.”—while Garthan pointedly ignored their existence. The rest of it was more mundane: water, food, clothing, living essentials, chemical refills for the life support systems. There was a whole case of surge protectors for the fusion cores, and that made Garthan wince internally because the kind of piloting that made an engine go through that many surge protectors usually wore out the engine pretty quickly, too. He hoped the Admantine was made of very stern stuff if Quill was one of _those_ pilots.

Garthan kept track of everything that came inside the ship, just like the old days. Even if he wasn’t in charge he wasn’t about to be caught by surprise if something exploded in the hold because it was packed wrong. Rocket laughed at him but asked Groot to move things whenever Garthan felt they were dangerously placed. Rocket got increasingly restless as the day wore on, and muttered here and there about cabin fever and Groot needing some damn sunshine. So far, Garthan had prevented him from actually taking anything apart—anything important anyway—but finally Rocket insisted that he had his own shopping to do and demanded that one of the others stay to watch the ship.

“I can watch the ship,” Garthan said, but nobody listened to him.

“And who’s going to watch you?”

“I don’t need _watching._ ”

“Rule number four, man: Saal needs watching.” Rocket looked to Quill, Gamora and Drax. “Come on, who’s staying?”

Garthan decided he wasn’t going to put up with this shit and retreated to the commander’s cabin, which Rocket kept unlocked except for when he was reminding Garthan that his own passcode was “waaaaayyyy better” than Garthan’s. Garthan hadn’t yet been able to crack it.

“Denarian Saal, are you available?”

It was Drax. Unfailingly polite, Drax was the only person who called him Denarian. Garthan glanced at the doorway where Drax was—also politely—waiting outside the threshold. “Well, I’m incredibly over-booked right now…” Garthan said dryly.

“I see. You look very busy pacing at the moment.”

Garthan was never quite sure if Drax was _that_ literal or if he was secretly incredibly sarcastic and taking everyone for a ride. “What is it, Drax?”

“I wanted to inquire if you’d be interested in sparring with me while our comrades are out.”

“So you pulled the short straw, huh? Wait, what?” Garthan stopped pacing.

“Would you like to spar with me? I am curious about what hand-to-hand techniques Nova Corps teaches its warriors.”

Not quite ready to believe that Drax was sincere, Garthan asked: “Did Rocket put you up to this?”

“No. Do you not wish to? If you feel you’re not recovered enough—”

“No, no.” Garthan frowned, but this time it was directed at himself. He had gotten so paranoid and defensive that he couldn’t even recognize a sincere overture of companionship. He’d been half-ignoring Drax and had answered courtesy with sarcasm. Stars be damned, Rocket had been right. Garthan was a bastard.

“Is there something wrong, Denarian?”

“Yes. Forgive me: I haven’t been acting much like a denarian lately. Drax, I would be thrilled to do some sparring again.”

* * *

_"Sir, I wanted to thank you. For transferring... you know."_

_"Corpsman Sadil requested transfer. I had nothing to do with it."_

_"Of course, sir. Silly of me."_

_“I noticed you still volunteered for my watch shift. Are you avoiding someone else now?”_

_“No sir. Rather the opposite.”_

* * *

Garthan quickly discovered three things as a result of sparring with Drax. One was that his prostheses messed up his center of gravity, which made it almost impossible to use his old techniques. The metal alloys Chandra had used were super light but the sheer quantity of them required still made Garthan rather lopsided mass-wise; he’d forgotten that from back when he was relearning how to walk.

The second was that Garthan shamelessly favored his right side, which consisted of far more ‘original material’ than his left and was correspondingly more vulnerable. It took Drax all of three minutes to figure that out and then Garthan lost all chance of beating him. Garthan stuck to it, mainly because it was _fun_ even though he had pick himself up off the floor of the cargo hold every few minutes.

The third thing Garthan discovered was that Drax was very, very good at hand-to-hand. Garthan had always favored firearms anyway, and had only learned a basic defensive style that suited his build and left it at that. Garthan suspected that Drax was in fact taking it easy on him.

“Are you sure you want to continue?” Drax asked, looking down at Garthan.

“Why, you getting sleepy?” Garthan took Drax’s offered hand and pulled himself to his feet.

Drax grinned somewhat maniacally and resumed his offense. “You are an impressive opponent.”

Garthan resumed dodging. “Hardly. I haven’t got a hit on you.”

“That is true, but you have quite a lot of stamina.” Drax ducked close, blocked a jab from Garthan’s left fist, and before Garthan could realize that dammit he was favoring his right again, knocked Garthan off-balance and caught him in a headlock. “You’re not using those metal limbs to your advantage. They could provide you a lot more force if you let them.”

Garthan froze at the use of limbs, _plural_ , momentarily letting his guard down. “How can you tell it’s not just the arm?”

Drax snaked his free arm under Garthan’s left, pivoted his grip, and suddenly Garthan was on the floor, again. “That should have dislocated your shoulder. The strike before that ought to have fractured your right foot. You also ought to have several broken ribs, but you don’t appear to.” Drax once more helped Garthan up. “I have to admit I was afraid at first to push you, Denarian, but you have proved to be very hard to damage.”

Garthan thought of his nerve implants and anxiety attacks. “Except for when I’m falling apart.”

Drax put a hand on Garthan’s shoulder. “We all have battle scars. They are something to be proud of, even the ones that only exist in our minds. They are proof we have survived.”

“That might be true, but sometimes I find myself wondering what the purpose of surviving is.”

* * *

_“Saal, this is not an option. You cannot ever use the Nova Force again.”_

_“Chandra, you’re a specialist, a civilian. You don’t understand the Nova Force. I can’t just stop using it; it’s part of me.”_

_“A cancerous organ may be part of someone, too, but it will still kill them.”_

_“You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”_

_“I’m not asking. I just noticed the signs, Saal. Nova Prime herself was in here to tell me what they meant and she made the call. I’m sure she knows exactly what she’s doing.”_

* * *

“I wondered that myself, after I lost my family. So I have these”—Drax gestured at his tattoos—“to remind me.”

Garthan looked at Drax like he had never bothered to look before. Drax stood still for him. Each tattoo was different, some elegant and swirling, some glittering with angry spikes, all very complex. Obviously they symbolized something personal. “And what are you surviving for?” Garthan asked.

“My purpose is to aid my comrades in the eradication of evil in the galaxy, including Thanos.”

“You’re going up against the Mad Titan?”

“Eventually.” The simple, unboastful way Drax said it gave Garthan quite a lot of respect for Drax the Destroyer. “And what is yours, Denarian?”

Garthan didn’t answer immediately. “’To protect and preserve all life from the dark which would extinguish it.’ It’s the oath we take in Nova Corps. That was my purpose.”

“Can it not still be?”

“Nova Corps doesn’t think so.” There was that bitterness again, creeping back in.

“I don’t recall participation in Nova Corps featuring in the oath.”

Garthan wondered again exactly how literal Drax really was. He ran through the full oath in his mind. It didn’t mention the Nova Corps or even the Nova Force, only loyalty to those who fought with you. Was it intentionally that way? Did it matter if wasn’t? Could he be Denarian Garthan Saal all on his own power?

Well, Garthan decided, if he wanted to, he would certainly have to clean up his act—starting with his responsibility to his crew. “Drax, will you teach me how fight again? I may not look it, but I’m about your mass now and I’m used to being quick and light.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: This was supposed to be fun and short, but things somehow got real again. Drax plays no games, though, so I guess it was inevitable. Drax gives me life; he’s my fav after Saal. My headcanon for Drax is that he catches onto a lot more shit than you might think, especially after a year and a half in the company of Rocket and Peter.
> 
> Bonus Avengers reference. Can you name the quote?
> 
> So, Saal decides to turn over a new leaf. Getting out of depression and destructive thinking habits is not always that easy IRL, but Saal has spent years developing a personal/command/work ethic that he has suddenly realized he’s not been living up to since the battle. His pride is at stake now, in a good way.
> 
> The Nova Force oath: I totally made that up. As for the flashback about the Nova Force… this is very important, my young grasshoppers. PLOT is coming. Those familiar with the comics might have idea of the direction it’s coming from.
> 
> Also, I don't usually pimp out other people's fic, but this fanvideo [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoXzKaf13hQ] made my life. It's Saal/Peter and I don't even ship it, but it still one of the most adorable things I have ever seen.


	12. A Favor in Every Port

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team has to sneak off of Volta Six in a hurry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: brief mention of sex

Several hours later Quill tore into the Admantine like a miniature ion storm, trying to juggle two calls at once on his communicator. "I don't care what you're in the middle of, just get back to the Admantine now!—Groot, I swear, if you don't put Rocket on..."

Quill glanced at Garthan. "Please tell me Drax is still here."

Garthan nodded, then waved Quill away from the control board. Garthan was not ultra confident in Quill's piloting ability when he gave it his full attention, let alone when he was trying to have three conversations at once. It might have been unfair, considering that Quill had done most of the flying so far without incident, but Garthan was growing overfond of the Admantine.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"We're leaving. Immediately, if not before."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing. There are Ravagers on Volta Six; I swear I saw Kraglin, which means that Yondu is either on planet or in orbit, which means we're getting the hell outta Dodge before he notices I'm here, if he hasn't already."

Garthan was familiar with both Yondu's rap sheet and the fact that he and his Ravagers had helped in the Battle for Xandar. "Aren't you two allies?"

"Um, more like friendly enemies. Last time I saw him, he threatened to kill me unless I gave him the infinity stone. So I gave him a fake, and he didn’t find out until after Nova Prime hid the real one wherever you folks hide creepy shit like that. I'm pretty sure he's gonna kill me for real this time." 

Quill glared at the communicator again. "Where are you jerks already?"

For the first time the answer was not a slightly fritzy _I am Groot_. "Just wait five minutes. I'm not leaving this radar scrambler after what I had to do to get it, and it’s huge. What did you do, anyway?"

"What? I didn't do anything. Yondu is here."

Rocket and Groot showed up a few minutes later, lugging a wagon of scrap and electronics that was bigger than the two of them together. Gamora, surprisingly, was last to wander in. She was flushed and looked rather disheveled, in addition to being in different clothes than when she had left this afternoon. They were slightly too big for her. There were smudges of purple—probably lipstick, Garthan thought—on her collarbone.

"Were you out buying new attire, Gamora?" Drax asked, looking curiously at her clothing.

Gamora looked thoroughly ticked; she glared balefully at Quill. "I was having sex. Really, really good sex. Until Peter insisted that it was a matter of life and death that I come back and I grabbed her clothes instead of mine. So who is dying, Peter?—because someone had better be. What did you do?"

"Why does everyone assume I did something? Yondu is here."

"Does he know we're here?"

"I don't really want to stick around to find out. Rocket, go tie down all your junk. We've gotta swing up the magnetic pole to skip customs and it’s going to be a bumpy ride without a loop in orbit first."

"Don't take the pole. We should go through customs," Garthan said.

"Saal, now is not the time—"

"No, listen. Nova Corps is well aware that the magnetic fields at a planet's pole screw up our radar projections. Do you know why we never do anything about it? Because it makes the poles the perfect place to ambush smugglers as they're coming up blind. I wouldn't put it past Udonta to know the trick as well. Now if he knows you're here, where do you think he’s waiting for you?"

Quill's shoulders slumped. "The pole orbit."

"Where we can't see him and he can see us no matter which route we take out of orbit," Gamora finished.

"So we go the one route he won't follow us: customs."

"Ah, Saal, we're not exactly clean as a whistle, here," Rocket said.

Garthan shrugged. "I only know how to catch smugglers, not how to be one. Aren't there ways to get around a customs search?"

"Bribes, when you're not dealing with Nova Corps," Quill said. "Rocket, can you build something that will scramble their scanners? Then we'll only have to be polite enough that we don't get searched."

"Eh... I'll see what I can do. Come on, Groot."

They almost, almost got through. Rocket turned the radar scrambler and a couple scraps of an old satellite into a fairly inconspicuous source of 'white noise', but unfortunately it also fritzed the Admantine's radio transmitter, and the customs officer got suspicious.

"Seriously, man, this rust bucket may look pretty on the outside, but she's a piece of crap inside. You do not want to have to come in here. Hey, it’s probably all the dirt that's interfering with the radio, haha..." Quill was lying as fast as he could, but the corpsman was distinctly unimpressed. 

"I still have to detain you and your ship for search."

"Literally all we're hauling is scrap. There's nothing for you to see, I swear."

"I'm rather thinking the opposite. Please remember that resisting a customs search is a minor felony." 

Garthan suddenly realized that the corpsman's voice was very familiar. "What is your name, Corpsman?"

"I am _Millenian_ Zhola Dolm." 

Garthan smiled at his luck. “I see you still prefer the midnight shift. Congratulations on your promotion."

The Millenian's tone immediately lost its professionalism. "Denarian Saal? Oh my stars, it's been forever. I heard you died."

"Sorry to disappoint you.”

"Don't be silly. I didn't believe it for a second. You'd probably find death too exasperating and refuse to cooperate."

Chandra would probably say that’s exactly the truth, Garthan thought wryly. "Dolm, I need a favor."

"It wouldn't have anything at all to do with what's blocking my scanners, would it?"

"Yes. It would be really helpful if you could become selectively blind for the time it takes us to clear customs."

"What exactly am I ignoring?" Dolm sounded skeptical, and Garthan mentally gave him points for it.

"Half a dozen DXs and assorted energy weapons, plus spare charges—which we got off a fence named Vermeil; do make sure you book him for it—"

"Hey! That guy's one of the only jerks in this quadrant who will sell me shit without trying to pick up the bounty on me first. What the hell are you having him arrested for?"

"Because he's selling illegal weapons. Don't interrupt." Garthan continued his inventory for Dolm: "...some conventional explosives, a radar scrambler and about a quarter ton of satellite scrap that will probably be reported stolen in the morning."

"Not all of it," Rocket muttered.

"Damn, what are you going to do with all that?"

Garthan glanced at the Guardians of the Galaxy, knowing the answer was probably "cause mayhem while breaking too many laws to count." Garthan said: "Topple a malevolent Kree dictatorship."

"Well if anyone can do it, you can." The millenian paused, and then his tone picked up its officiousness again. "Mr. Salt, I am afraid I have been called away to deal with a smuggling charge. Please wait here until another corpsman is available to finish processing your ship."

Garthan smirked at the alias; Dolm had always been cheeky. "Thank you. One last thing: there may or may not be a Ravager ship hanging around the pole orbit, but if it is, it’s not expecting to be ambushed."

"Thanks for the tip."

As they pulled out of orbit, completely unchallenged, Quill gave long whistle. "First Dey, then that engineer, now this guy. You know Saal, the saying goes 'a lover in every port' not 'a favor in every port'."

"Favors are more useful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I am absurdly fond of the Admantine. I have this thing for fancy cars even though I hate driving, and I picture the Admantine to be rocket ship version of a Bentley. 
> 
> Saal may not be nice, but he’s kind. People remember that kind of thing. Millenian Dolm is the corpsman from the flashback in the previous chapter, in case you didn’t catch it.
> 
> You can take a cop off the force, but you can’t stop him from being a cop. Saal is a lawman through and through and of course he’s going to have the weapons smuggler arrested.
> 
> So, in the comics Gamora is apparently highly sexually active and takes no shit about it, either. I wanted to do the same thing here, but I headcanon her as a lesbian. I haven’t personally ever put on the wrong clothes leaving a squeeze in a hurry, but I’ve heard from friends whose lives are far more exciting than mine that it’s a thing.


	13. Asteroid Trap, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yondu Udonta, my name is Denarian Garthan Saal of the Nova Corps. It is my great pleasure to inform you that you are under arrest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: This chapter is split because it’s long and ya’ll need an update. I won’t apologize for the delay because I don’t apologize for personal crisises. Suffice to say that I’ve had too many issues of my own in the last few days to help Saal deal with his. My commitment to this story is still strong as ever, but unfortunately my updates will slow slightly.
> 
> Warnings: none.

It was considerably easier to play nicely with Drax, Groot and Rocket than it was to do so with Quill and Gamora. In fact, Garthan was still not going anywhere near Gamora.

Quill wasn’t much better, though. More than ever, he seemed slightly wary of and more-than-slightly annoyed by Garthan’s presence. Garthan could not for the life of him think of what new thing he had done to annoy Quill. Yes, he had broken Quill’s nose. And thrown the whole mission into chaos by nearly dying twice [but it wasn’t exactly fair to hold that against him, Garthan thought]. And insulted Quill’s music [Garthan had snapped at the fifteenth repeat of “Hooked on a Feeling”]. Other than those little hiccups, however, Garthan had tried his best to be helpful and not agonistic, even when provoked.

Garthan was beginning to think that he would have to find some way to make up for that last offense. According to Rocket, Quill got himself injured on a ridiculously regular basis and missions devolved into chaos even more often—Quill was likely to let them go, but not the music, apparently. It was an odd thing to hold a grudge over, in Garthan’s opinion. Unfortunately, Garthan did not have time to unravel the undoubtedly fascinating mysteries of Peter Quill’s psyche, because soon after they left Volta Six, Yondu hailed the Admantine.

Quill and Garthan were in the cockpit when the hail came through; Garthan had claimed the copilot’s chair on the off-chance that Quill changed his mind about sharing the controls [and to keep an eye on Quill’s flying]. In the pilot’s seat, Quill stared at the blinking notification on the control board, looking like he’d just tried to kiss an Askavarian.

“Are you going to answer that?” Garthan said after a full ninety seconds.

Quill started to nod, then shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Are you at least going to trace the call? He obviously got past Dolm or he wouldn’t be able to call.”

Quill’s eyes widened. “Shit. What if he’s close by?”

“We can’t find out by just sitting here.”

“I can’t talk to him.”

“Why?”

Quill just shrugged, still looking highly anxious.

* * *

_"If you sign that enlistment you will never set foot in this house again. You will never get another thing from us, do you hear?”_

_“Guess I better keep the pen, then.”_

* * *

Garthan rolled his eyes, flipped the control board so Quill wouldn’t be visible and switched the transmitter mic to directional so it wouldn’t pick up stray voices.

“What are you doing? Don’t—”

“Keep quiet and start tracing the call.” Garthan swiped across the panel to answer the call. Yondu began talking the instant the connection confirmed.

“Boy! I’ve had it with your shenanigans! You’ve crossed the line for good—” Yondu noticed that it was Garthan who had answered and had to take a moment to reign back his momentum. The anger in his expression morphed into cunning suspicion. “Who the fuck are you?”

Garthan decided to play coy on the chance that Yondu wasn’t certain the ship was Quill’s. Garthan rolled out the official Nova Corps response: “My name is Denarian Garthan Saal of the Nova Corps. What is the purpose of your hail?”

 “Nova Corps. Well, well, the boy sold out, did he? Where are your uniform and tags, sunspot?”

Garthan was in clothes Rocket had picked up for him on Volta Six [without even turning it into a prank, surprisingly enough], and the Admantine didn’t have official Nova Corps radar tags yet. Garthan was mildly surprised by the outdated slur Yondu used. Most criminals nowadays used far more vulgar and less imaginative terms to insult corpsmen, but of course Yondu was an old-guard outlaw. Apparently Yondu had a certain amount of class, even if was only a very small amount—and he was also no doubt watching Garthan’s reaction to see if he recognized the word. Garthan sneered to let him know he had, and lied smoothly: “Nova units on covert operations aren’t required to broadcast tags. What is the purpose of your hail?”

“I’m looking for Quill. Tell him to stop hiding behind Nova Corps like a coward.” Next to Garthan, Quill winced. Garthan caught it in his peripheral vision but didn’t glance that way. He hoped Quill was tracing the stars-damned call.

“Missing person’s reports can be filed online or with the nearest customs office.”

Yondu wasn’t amused. “Stop playing with me, sunspot. I ain’t got time for your shit.”

“Unless your ship is in distress or you have a crime to report”—Garthan could think of several offhand that Yondu currently had warrants out for—“I can’t help you.”

Yondu glanced off-screen, and then grinned. “I got a crime to report. There’s an undercover Nova ship about ta be blown out of the sky if Quill doesn’t get his lying ass over here.”

Garthan glanced at the radar panel: no ships were in range. Then a thought occurred to Garthan and he sent a stealth-wash pinging off the nearby asteroid belt. They’d passed an automaton mining installation earlier and it was throwing off debris and interference, but a stealth wash would pick up any hidden fusion-core signatures. Quill stopped working on the trace as the stealth-wash bounced back.

“Shit. He’s almost on top of us.” Quill slashed his hand at the alarms panel and sent a call-to-the-bridge to the others. “How the hell did he find us so fast?”

As the others began all squeezed into the cockpit, Garthan turned back to Yondu. “You have an excellent stealth screen.”

“I got excellent guns to go with ‘em.”

Garthan nodded. “You’ll have to give me a moment to investigate your report.”

“Ya got three minutes to investigate, sunspot.”

Garthan cut the call and spun his seat to face the others. “What’s the plan?”

“We have to find a way to shake him off for good,” Quill said. He had stood up, unable to contain his anxiety to his chair, and Rocket slipped into the seat and started a second scan on Yondu’s ship.

“We’ve trying to do that for over a cycle. It’s not working,” Gamora said.

“Yondu has been most persistent. I fear we will not be able to flee from his revenge any longer.” Drax said.

“He’s got his lock-beam powered up, Quill,” Rocket said. “He’s gonna make a grab with it.”

Quill glanced over Rocket’s shoulder at the console. “We can outrun him, right?”

“Outrun him to where? We’ve got Xandarian space behind us and the Kree Empire ahead of us. We can’t just go tearing around like maniacs or somebody’s army will blow us to bits and ask questions after.” Unfortunately, that was true. The Admantine was smaller than Yondu’s ship and likely had fewer fusion cores. As fast as she was, Garthan figured they would be hard pressed to outrun Yondu in open space.

“This is a destroyer. It’s designed of the purpose of destroying enemy ships. Why do we not simply attack?” Drax offered.

Quill jumped to Yondu’s defense with surprising vehemence considering that Yondu had just threatened to fire on them. “No. We can’t—we’re not shooting at Yondu, okay? That is a bad plan.”

“He hasn’t got his shields up,” Garthan said after glancing at the scanner console. Yondu was obviously not expecting the Admantine to fire on him.  “We have the advantage if it comes to a fight.”

“Nobody asked you. Since when did you become Dirty Harry anyway? Nova Corps never fires the first shot.”

Garthan hadn’t said anything about firing first, but now was not the time to address Quill’s attitude issues. Rocket interrupted the argument. “Ya’ll got about forty seconds to make a decision, here. He’s getting close enough to make a grab with that lock-beam.”

Gamora stepped up to Quill and put a hand on his shoulder, dropping her voice, although the cockpit was small enough that everyone could still hear her. The gesture somehow reminded Garthan of his status as the odd man out. “Peter, I know how you feel about him, but Yondu has proven to be an enemy, not a friend.”

Quill’s hand was glued to his music player. “We’re not attacking.”

“Then what the fuck are we going to do? I ain’t keen on being flash-fried because you’re a damned softie.”

Quill hesitated, then sighed. “I have a plan.” Quill leaned over Garthan’s seat to swipe at the control board. “Yondu, it’s me. I’m coming over, okay? Promise you’ll leave the others alone—”

“Peter! That is not a plan.” Gamora yanked Peter away by the arm; he tried to shake her off.

Quill tried twice to hit send, but Groot—who was all the way in the corridor, since the cockpit was too crowded for zir—reached out and snagged Quill around the middle. Zir arm _grew_ in just a few seconds to span the distance, wrap around Quill’s stomach and his other arm, and pull him away from the control panel. Garthan spent a moment mesmerized by the trick before turning back to dismiss Quill’s message. Were all of Quill’s plans completely moronic?

“I am Groot.”

 “Quit it, guys! Come on. I’m the one Yondu’s pissed at. Am I just supposed to let him blow you all up?”

* * *

_"_ _What was I supposed to do? Charge in to save them and get blown up for my trouble?”_

_“That’s exactly what you were supposed to do. You were their commanding officer. You have more access to the Nova Force. You should’ve taken the fall for them. That’s how Nova Corps works.”_

_“There was no way to save them.”_

_“You don’t know that.”_

_“I was certain enough! Look where heroism has gotten you, Millenian. You charged in to save me and now we’re_ both _going to die.”_

_“When we get out of this, I’m having you put up for review for gross dereliction of duty.”_

_“What part of ‘we’re going to die’ is unclear to you?”_

_“I’m your superior officer, Korel. I’m going to get you out of this.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I know ya’ll want to see Saal drive the Admantine—hold tight for Part 2. This is another fun chapter for me; I’ve had it planned for a while now. It’s cheering me up a little. Get ready for your next dose of angst, though. Peter and Saal are due for a talk. 
> 
> Yondu gives me life. He is such a badass, and he’s one of those characters who just waltz through a story with no respect whatsoever for right or wrong, good or evil, protagonist or antagonist. Yondu just does what he wants. [I have a bad habit of writing one of these bastards into all my stories… God help me, but they’re fun!]
> 
> Sunspots are small dark or light spots that appear temporarily on the surface of stars as a result of magnetic disturbances. As a nickname it’s kind of condescending, and reminds me of the little lights on the corpsmen’s uniforms in the film.


	14. Asteroid Trap, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yondu Udonta, my name is Denarian Garthan Saal of the Nova Corps. It is my great pleasure to inform you that you are under arrest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Part 2 of the Asteroid Trap. I will combine these two in a few days after chapter 15 [ie. the real chapter 14] is written.
> 
> Warnings: none.

Their three minutes were up. Yondu was hailing them again, and this time his ship was far too close for Garthan’s comfort. Garthan filed away his intrigue with Quill’s sudden bout of selflessness for a point in the future when they weren’t in danger of being a violently exploded or boarded. “Rocket, switch the master controls to my console and then put up our shields.”

“We’re making a run for it?”

Garthan smirked. “We’re making an arrest.” He answered Yondu’s hail, and didn’t wait for the outlaw to start yelling again. “Udonta, if you want Quill, you’re going to have to catch him.”

“I taught that boy everything he knows. He can’t outfly me.”

“He’s not the one flying.” Garthan cut the call and switched his attention immediately to the piloting controls. He cut power briefly to thruster B to send the Admantine into a sharply accelerating spiral. It was technically a very bad thing to do to your thrusters but the resulting wheeling and jerking could be used to give the impression of having taken a bad hit—or to just confuse the hell out of someone. It worked; Yondu’s craft didn’t move or fire. When the Admantine was oriented towards the asteroid belt, Garthan returned the thruster to full power and took off like a bat out of hell towards it. The Admantine’s artificial gravity was excellent and mostly compensated for the sudden acceleration.  A glance at the radar readings told Garthan that Yondu’s ship was sluggishly changing direction to come after them. It was only a brief head start, Garthan knew. Yondu would catch up. Garthan just needed it to be later rather than sooner.

“Saal, you’re heading straight for the asteroid belt. Ya gotta pull up or we’ll get crushed in there for sure,” said Rocket. Smart pilots avoided asteroid belts because they were inconvenient and dangerous. Debris and asteroids crowded radar readings and even going slowly there was chance of missing something and ending up with a deadly hole in your craft—or even ending up smashed between two asteroids. It was easier and safer to go around belts when you came across them.

Garthan didn’t change course and the belt quickly approached. “No, we won’t.”

 “The mining installation is screwing up the scanners. Ya take us in there we’re practically going in blind.”

Garthan dismissed the various operations on the main view-screen and set it to transparency mode. Outside the ship, the belt was clearly detectable by sight and only getting larger. “I can see fine.”

“Please tell me you’re not trying go through an asteroid belt using line of sight,” Quill moaned, still restrained by Groot. Gamora and Drax watched uncertainly; Quill appeared to be the only really competent pilot of the group besides Rocket.

“Done it before,” Garthan replied. “Rocket, forget about the asteroids. Can you get a general direction on the mining installation?”

“Yeah, you just centralize the interference pattern. Give me a sec… it’s on our far right.”

“Good. Let me know if I veer off. Where’s Yondu?”

“Catching up, fast. I hope ya know what you’re doing.”

Garthan did, even if it had been quite a few years since he’d pulled a stunt like this. The time span didn’t bother him in the least. He’d spent his whole career chasing and being chased in various ships from his tiny Nova fighter to a craft-carrier bigger than ten Admantines. Piloting was piloting, and as Garthan dropped their speed to sub-light and ducked behind the first few asteroids, he realized with a thrill that _he hadn’t lost his edge_.

The Admantine performed beautifully, accelerating or decelerating as fast as the laws of physics would allow and slipping into hairpins turns with barely a lag from the controls. Her only flaw was her low mass; many of the asteroids were significantly larger than the Admantine and the gravitational interference jerked the ship in chaotic directions. Garthan switched his entire attention to weaving around obstacles towards the mining installation, leaving the crew to panic or complain as they would and trusting Rocket to keep him posted on Yondu’s position.

Yondu ship was larger than the Admantine and could fend for itself gravitationally, but had to give up much of that maneuverability because it simply couldn’t fit through all the places Garthan could. Garthan wondered if Yondu was flying or if he had another pilot in his crew.

“Too far left, Saal.”

Garthan swerved to correct and nearly lost a thruster fin when a miniature asteroid, which he’d thought was a depression in the larger one behind it, got in his way. Asteroids were moving more quickly now, against their normal rotational pattern—they were getting close to the mining installation.

“Damn, you did it. Yondu’s falling back.”

Garthan spared a glance for the radar console, and immediately slowed, pulling the Admantine upwards so he could get a line of sight on Yondu.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Not when they were so close. Garthan split his attention dangerously for several seconds to activate one of the Admantine’s plasma lasers. Rocket must have been fiddling with it at some point because it jumped to life without asking for confirmation or sounding the ship’s battle alarms. Garthan sent a blast into an asteroid close by Yondu’s port side. A warning shot, really, but hopefully enough to tick Yondu off. “Chase me, you bastard.”

Garthan was vaguely aware of Quill making a ruckus but ignored him. Yondu was turning back towards the Admantine. Garthan smirked and dropped the Admantine back into her original trajectory, heading for the mining installation. Mining rigs like the one the Admantine was rapidly approaching were huge autonomous structures that collected material from a given region of space—an asteroid belt, an ice ring, or a dust nebula—to await refinement. They worked via progressively smaller one-way force-fields and a massive artificial gravity generator. Nearby objects were attracted by pulses from the generator, and once they passed through the force-fields’ boundaries, no object could pass back out again—including ships. Even pilots reckless enough to brave an asteroid belt still avoided mining installations.

* * *

_“Saal, this is the third time I’ve had to pull you out of one of these. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”_

_“I was testing a theory, sir.”_

_“Experiment on your own time. If you follow a smuggler into a force-field again, I’ll take you off this assignment.”_

* * *

Yondu was following so tightly behind the Admantine that, although Garthan had no fears about Yondu pulling away before they passed the mining rig’s first force-field, he was worried Yondu might be angling to take a shot at them. The first force field came into sight between the now very crowded asteroids: a barely visible translucent plane of blue light that did not look nearly as dangerous as it actually was.

“Eh… Saal, you do know what that is, right?” Rocket said uncertainly.

“What? What is he doing now?” Gamora asked.

“Leading us into a fucking death trap.” Quill, as a pilot, had to be well aware of the dangers of mining rigs and other autonomous space structures. He was, fortunately, still sulking in Groot’s grasp. “Drax, Gamora! You have to stop him.”

Garthan threw one arm out to stop them from coming any closer to the controls. The motion almost sent the ship careening into a nearby asteroid. “I know what I’m doing, trust me.”

“What have you done that we should trust you?” Gamora said vehemently.

Garthan did not have time for this. The Admantine was going to get crushed if he didn’t focus on flying. “Rocket.”

Garthan knew he didn’t have to say anything more for Rocket to understand the request. Still, Rocket hesitated, glancing from Garthan to his team.

“I am Groot.”

Whatever ze said, it resolved Rocket’s uncertainty. “Alright, back off. This ain’t any crazier than half the shit we do.”

Then the Admantine zoomed through first force-field—and so did Yondu’s ship—and it was too late for any of them, including Garthan, to have second thoughts. “One,” he breathed. Garthan once again tuned out the rest of the cockpit. He had to time this just right.

Twenty seconds and two close calls later, they hit the second force-field, and Yondu’s bigger ship was having trouble keeping up in the tighter space between the asteroids. They moved erratically as the gravity generator further in pulsed on and off. Maneuvering grew increasingly more difficult as the pulses interfered with Garthan’s controls. He slowed the Admantine slightly. “Two.”

After the third force-field would be the central structure of the rig, which housed the artificial gravity generator: two intersecting circular rings, whose patterned rotations created the pulsing effect that kept the asteroids moving in a tight, rough orbit around them. Those rings were Garthan’s back door. If a pilot could get between them just after a pulse, while the generator was effectively “off”, the next pulse would automatically propel the ship away, at right angles to the gravity field and out of the plane of the asteroid belt completely. The catch was that the interference from the generator grew so strong after the third force-field that most ships could no longer change their direction. It was a very risky trick, since if a pilot{s timing was off even the slightest bit, a ship would at best be stuck floating in the inner ring and at worst sliced in half by the rotating rings of the artificial gravity generator. Fortunately, Garthan had done this plenty of times before. He was betting that Yondu hadn’t, however, which meant Yondu would remain caught in the trap until Nova Corps showed up to shut down the rig and  arrest him.

By the time they were came up on the third force-field Garthan realized that something was very wrong. The asteroids beyond the force-field weren’t floating in an orbit. They were still disorganized. Garthan couldn’t spot the generator rings, either. Had he gotten turned around? No it didn’t make sense: the gravitational interference was growing stronger, not weaker. Then it occurred to Garthan that in the time since he’d been a millennian, they must have started making rigs with more than three rings. Garthan didn’t know if the Admantine could handle more than three.

There was no choice but to move forward. Garthan didn’t show his concern to the others. He was very glad the Admantine was such a finely-tuned craft, otherwise they would certainly be doomed. As it was, they sailed through the third force-field, and Garthan hoped that there would only be one more ring as he navigated the dangerous terrain, cutting turns and dodges very close at times to conserve as much momentum as possible. At he didn’t have to worry about Yondu, who was lagging quite a ways behind the Admantine because of his bigger ship.

Luck and the Admantine’s excellent craftsmanship brought them all the way to the  fourth force-field before the controls stop responding reliably. Garthan spotted the generator rings just past the stream of orbiting asteroids, and managed to duck the Admantine below a group of them and into the blank space beyond. Unfortunately, that was where Garthan’s luck ran out. The gravity disruptions were rendering the controls mostly useless and the Admantine was slowly being pushed into an angle that would take her into orbit around the rings rather than straight at them. Garthan could power up the thrusters to give them more speed, but it wouldn’t do any good if they were headed in the wrong direction. Garthan ran through their options very quickly. None of them looked good.

* * *

_“There are two kinds of people in the Nova Corps, Dey: those who treat the Nova Force like money and those who treat it like luck. The first kind spend as much as they’ve got. The second only use it when necessary.”_

_“Which is better, sir?”_

_“You’ll get different answers to that. Personally, I think that luck is something it’s wise not to depend on.”_

* * *

Garthan would have to use the Nova Force. It was the only option that didn’t include being smashed to bits or floating around potentially for months, waiting to be rescued by a maintenance crew that may not even notice them. Garthan hadn’t called on the Nova Force since the battle, but this would only be little bit. Even a millennian could do it. Chandra’s warning rang in Garthan’s head. Chandra had many flaws, but exaggeration was not one of them. To use the Nova Force right now would be riskier even than setting this trap in the first place.

It was only a little bit, though.

Garthan was surprised by how effortlessly the power came to him. It was no trouble at all to summon up the amount of Nova Force he needed to will the Admantine to _move_ in the right direction. For a brief moment, Garthan was tempted to use it to slow down the generator rings as well, but he shook off the idea immediately. He was already pushing his luck. He could get through the rings on his own. It was a pity to let the connection go, though, almost like coming down off an endorphin rush. Garthan didn’t have time to dwell on it, however, since the Admantine was now headed straight for the generator rings and he had to watch both their speed and the rings very closely. The timing had to be perfect.

“Saal, what are you doing? We’re never going to fit inside there.”

They were five seconds away. The generator pulsed off. Garthan increased their speed.

“Those will tear us apart. Are you crazy? Stop!”

Two seconds. The generator pulsed on.

Garthan cut power to the thrusters and suddenly they were coasting. The generator pulsed offñ the rings opened wide—the Admantine was through. Exactly three seconds later the Admantine own artificial gravity suffered a momentary hiccup that left everyone disoriented and dizzy, but when the galaxy stopped spinning, the Admantine was floating peacefully in open space, and the asteroid was far, far above her. Garthan grinned. There was not a single malfunction alert on the control board, a result he’d never been able to manage with any other ship.

“Stars, I love this ship.” Garthan resolved for the millionth time to heap praises on Vakiri next tiem he saw her.

Drax cheered, perhaps overly loudly. “We have escaped. Your plan was an excellent one, Denarian, and courageously executed.”

Rocket seemed to be laughing out of relief. “Saal, if you were wondering what my standard for ‘batshit crazy’ is, that was it.”

“Where did you learn to do that?” Drax asked.

“Chasing smugglers off the Spartax mining strip back during the tritium embargo.”

“Man, that was like, a million years ago.”

“Thanks, hamster.”

“What about Yondu?” Gamora interrupted, her tone not the least bit celebratory.

“Oh, he’s probably just now figuring out that he’s stuck.” Garthan turned to the control board and hailed Yondu’s ship. The call confirmation didn’t come back for almost a minute.

“Where the hell did you go, sunspot?”

Garthan tried to stop himself from grinning. “Yondu Udonta, it is my great pleasure to inform you that are under arrest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So does anyone get the double meaning on the chapter title?
> 
> Thank you to the folks who leave reviews, including the Magnificent Rogueshadow on Ao3, and the Intrepid Chemical30 on FFN [where it is very difficult to reply to reviews]. I would also like to thank my Part-Time-but-no-less-Wonderful Beta, Xandri.
> 
> So we’re at chapter fourteen and even though this plot is gonna get hot real quick, we still got a lot of adventure left. This fic is going to be a long one, probably thirty chapters, forty tops, I should think. Thanks for coming along for the ride!
> 
> A belated comment on the title, “The Only Sane Man”: it’s a trope listed on TVTropes.com [a wonderful site], and in the movie, it is actually Peter who serves as the only sane man among his much crazier team members.
> 
> How are you ya’ll feeling about the description of technology? I’m trying to leave hints and the rest to the imagination.


	15. Wanted Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saal is a wanted man, and Peter is the captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Hello! It’s been forever! I was an orientation leader for my college and wrangling freshmen is tougher than it looks. Plus I broke my foot. Relating to Saal is becoming distressingly easier… Hopefully we’ll be back on track now that I’m starting classes. 
> 
> Warnings: light ableism.

_Re: Transfer Application. Millenian Saal: Your application is incomplete. In order for us clear you for an intelligence assignment we strongly suggest that you let us know the names and addresses of all your close family members and current romantic partners. Nova Corps will arrange for their protection in the case that your cover is blown. We noticed you did not fill out this portion of the application. Please reply with missing information ASAP. Respectfully, Transfer Office._

_Re: Re: Transfer Application. Transfer Office: There’s nothing to fill it with. The application is complete as-is. Respectfully, Millenian Garthan Saal._

* * *

Yondu was understandably pissed. Garthan was still riding the rush of satisfaction from his successful piloting stunt and could not help but feel smug about bagging the infamously slippery outlaw, especially since, to Garthan’s knowledge, no one [in Nova Corps at least] had ever managed to do so.

Once Yondu had exhausted his repertoire of threats, profanities and insults, he calmed enough to peer suspiciously at Garthan from the screen. “How did you get out, sunspot?”

Garthan shook his head. “It’s an old trick, and I’m certainly not telling you. Can I assume that your craft is stuck in orbit outside the anti-grav generator?”—Yondu’s sour look was all the confirmation Garthan needed—“Lock your controls in a matching orbit so the asteroids don’t throw you off of it, and reroute the power from your thrusters to your repulsion field, if you have one. It keeps the smaller rocks from becoming too friendly, and reduces the lag from the fusion core.”

Yondu looked briefly surprised at the advice, and then grinned. Garthan had never met anyone who could make a grin look so roguishly corrupted. “That trick of yours don’t always work, then?”

Garthan shrugged, and because Yondu was damn a good pilot to get as far as he had, answered honestly: “Took three tries to figure it out.”

“I’ll do it in two, and then I’m coming after your hotshot ass.”

“You do that. You’ll have a lot of time to figure it out waiting for Nova Corps to come arrest you and your crew.”

“Fuck you, sunspot.” Yondu’s leer switched abruptly back to a fierce frown. “Tell Quill I’m not done with him, either.”

“I’m not a messenger.”

“Nah, you’re just his new muscle. Boy can’t make it on his own so he’s got himself some hired guns.” Yondu cut the connection.

Garthan wasn’t sure how to feel about being called a mercenary. On the one hand, Yondu clearly meant it as an insult, whether it was true or not—and it _wasn’t_ —but on the other, it had been a long time since anyone considered Garthan dangerous and it was refreshing in a shadowy way. None of his present crew considered him as asset, certainly—even Rocket, who’d insisted that Garthan needed to be _watched_.

* * *

_“Dey, you have to come out sometime.”_

_“I can’t. Leave me alone.”_

_“Don’t make me order you to open the door.”_

_“Go ahead. I’ll resign.”_

_“You are not resigning.”_

_“Might as well. I can’t go back out into the field again.”_

_“Rhomann, listen to me. You are an excellent commander. Nova Corps needs you. Everyone loses a corpsman sooner or later.  Every commander goes through it.”_

_“Does it get better?”_

_“No. And it will happen again.”_

_“That’s wonderfully comforting, Saal. Stars help the Nova Corps if you ever get a diplomatic assignment.”_

_“Does that laugh mean you’re going to open the door?”_

_“No.”_

* * *

Before Garthan had a chance to let his thoughts wander farther in the direction of sulking, the cockpit erupted into argument and noise once more.

“That’s it. I’m done. We’re dropping him at the nearest customs station. For fuck’s sake, Groot, you can let me go now!”

Quill was livid. About what? Garthan was damned if he knew. Good feelings from the escape were threatening to evaporate.

“Quill, what troubles you?” Drax asked.

“Saal! He is the definition of trouble. We have had nothing but trouble since we laid eyes on him. Gamora was right. We should do this ourselves.”

Garthan pivoted the pilot’s seat to face Quill and crossed his arms. “What did I do _now_?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about stealing the controls and flying us into a fucking asteroid belt? And you shot at Yondu.”

“He was trying to attack us.”

“That’s not the point! He could get crushed in there. Are you just going to leave him to rot?”

Garthan glanced at Rocket and the others, but apparently none of them were willing to enter the argument. “Were you listening at all? He’ll be fine, provided he doesn’t do anything idiotic. I’m calling Dey immediately to have Nova Corps pick him up.”

“Yeah, prison is a great alternative. Nothing bad ever happens there.”

“Oh please. He’ll be king of the Kyln in three days. He’ll probably love it.” With Yondu’s forceful personality, Garthan was quite sure of it.

“Why, because he’s a criminal? I got news for you, _Denarian_ Saal: so are we.”

Quill was crowding in front of Garthan, bristling and restless; Garthan stood up to rob Quill of his height advantage. “Believe me, that’s abundantly clear. Anyone else would be grateful to have as much help as I’ve given you.”

“We don’t need it. I don’t need you trying to run things your way. You don’t seem to get that this not your ship, not your mission, not your crew.”

Quill’s attitude clicked into place for Garthan. Quill was the leader of this band of former-or-not-so-former outlaws: the commander, the captain, what have you. And Garthan, for all that he hadn’t done so intentionally, had effectively been undermining Quill’s authority. It had been quite a few years since Garthan had taken orders on a daily basis instead of giving them—Nova Prime and the centurions generally just assigned him a problem and demanded a solution—and Garthan had automatically shifted into a command mindset.

Well, wasn’t that embarrassing? Garthan had hated the occasions when some idiot tried to do the same to him; his reputation as the Salt Pillar had attracted plenty of hotshot corpsmen who had something to prove and thought he was a good target.

* * *

_“Don’t you have a job to do?”_

_“This is my job. I’m supposed to look out for my subordinates, Dey.”_

_“I’m pretty sure you’re going above and beyond the call of duty, here.”_

_“You’re certainly not making it easy on me. I arranged for this little tantrum to be covered by your accumulated leave, but you only have two more days to sulk. I notified Corpsman Firren’s family for you and arranged for your crew to train with Korel’s battalion for the interim. I’ve also had to make several calls to your wife, since you apparently haven’t done so, which is definitely above the call of duty.”_

_“So why are you doing it? Saal, are you still there?”_

_“Rhomann, do you know that you’re the only person I’ve met in Nova Corps who has never once, behind my back or to my face, referred to me as the Salt Pillar?”_

_“I always thought you liked it. I know you enjoy pretending to be a bastard.”_

_“I do, and I’m not pretending, whatever your delusions are to the contrary. But you’re still the one exceptional person who doesn’t say it. Quite exceptional.”_

_“Are you trying to flatter me into coming out?”_

_“Have I ever lied to you?”_

_“Um… no. You said I had two days?”_

_“For Nova’s sake, Dey, at least go home to your wife. She’s driving me crazy.”_

* * *

Let it not be said that Denarian Garthan Saal didn’t acknowledge his own errors. Garthan just hoped that this was the only thing ruffling Quill’s nerves, and that it wouldn’t be too hard to make amends.

“You’re right.”

“Yeah, well—What?” Quill had evidently been expecting a different response.

You’re right,” Garthan repeated. “You’re obviously the one in command here, for whatever reasons.”—Garthan sent a sly side glance at Rocket and smirked slightly—“Although I’m not sure how in the galaxy you got Rocket to follow orders…”

“I don’t follow orders!” Rocket immediately interrupted, highly offended. “I do exactly what I feel like doing, so there.”

The only person who did not mirror Garthan’s amused expression at Rocket’s outburst was Drax, who nodded seriously. The tension was slowly bleeding out of the cockpit. Garthan noticed absently that his skin was starting to prickle annoyingly; he needed a quick dose of pressure suppressant. He continued: “You’re in charge, Quill, and I shouldn’t have been disrupting that. You have my apologies.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Saal?” Rocket muttered.

Garthan ignored him in favor of scrutinizing Quill’s expression for signs of mollification. Quill’s arms were still crossed but he no longer looked like he wanted to throw Garthan out the airlock. “But there are only three ways I can exist on this ship, you know. A captain, I cannot be. Cargo, I will not be. All that’s left is for me to be member of your team, however briefly.”—Garthan plowed on despite Gamora’s derisive snort—“You want to be captain, Quill, you’re going to have to act like one. Treat me like part of your crew.”

Quill didn’t speak immediately. After a moment his roguish grin—which Garthan suddenly realized reminded him sharply of Yondu’s—returned and he uncrossed his arms. “Well, Captain Hook, if you want to join my band of lost boys you gotta do three things.”

Garthan was instantly suspicious, not the least because he only understood half of what Quill had said. “What things?”

“Peter!” Gamora hissed. “What are you thinking?” When Quill just shrugged at her she stalked out of the cockpit with a growl. Gamora was going to remain a problem, then, Garthan mused. She was dead set against him, and quite possibly would stay that way.

“First thing, Saal: you gotta promise to show me that trick you just pulled.”

Garthan nodded. It was a reasonable request. Would the others be, though? Quill’s grin seem to suggest otherwise.

“Okay, now say: I solemnly swear…”

“I solemnly swear…” Garthan kept his expression as straight as possible.

“…that I will not make fun of the captain’s tunes…”

“…that I will not make fun of the captain’s tunes…” Rocket appeared to be close to exploding, due to the pressure of all the sniggering he was trying to suppress.

“…and I will stop being a snarky bastard…”

Well, that wasn’t going to happen. Garthan rolled his eyes but repeated it. Had Dey bothered to warn Quill about _anything_ before setting him on Garthan?

“…and I will hereby refer to the captain as—”

“I’m not calling you Starlord. Or sir. No one else does.” Garthan felt he had indulged Quill quite enough. “Are we done here?”

Quill took it stride. “Alright, number three: you gotta spill about what’s wrong with you.”

Quill was taking Chandra’s advice to heart, then. Garthan glanced at the scar on his palm again; he’d been doing that a lot lately. As much as Garthan hated to admit it, keeping things to himself was probably going to continue to cause problems. Any space-going crew had to at least understand each other, if not actually trust and respect each other, in order to function. Even on the most insignificant of missions, if you were going to be stuck in pressurized, glorified metal box with other people for any length of time, knowing their strengths and weaknesses was critical.

The thing about trusting people, though, was that someone had to go first.

Garthan trusted Dey and Rocket and maybe even Drax, and they trusted Quill, for whatever reasons. It would have to be enough. Garthan took a deep breath.

Just then, however, the Admantine’s interstellar communicator whistled and blinked urgently. The only people with the contact tags for the Admantine were Vakiri, Dey and now Yondu, whose call wouldn’t register as interstellar—which meant it was either Vakiri or Dey, and therefore probably urgent. Rocket pulled it up immediately.

It was a recorded message, not a call; nor was it from Dey or Vakiri or even Yondu—it was from Millenian Dolm.

“Saal, I don’t know what you’re doing, but Nova Corp is looking for you. Not discretely, either. Every single corpsman in the quadrant has orders to apprehend you and bring you back to Xandar immediately.”—Dolm must have saved the Admantine’s tags; it was clever of him. Garthan was glad he’d turned out to be such a good corpsman. The message itself, however, was more troubling—“Nobody seems to know what’s going on. I’m in a lot of hot water for being the last person to see you, so only reply back to this if you actually want to be apprehended.”—that explained the message rather than a call—“Whatever you’re doing...”—Dolm glanced off-center—“Sorry, I have to go. Dolm, out.”

“What the hell is this about?” Rocket said.

“It is odd that Nova Corps is only looking for you, Denarian,” said Drax. “The only crime you have been involved in is the theft of this craft, and that would surely be attributed to all of us.”

Yes, it certainly was odd. Garthan couldn’t sort it out.

“That is the only crime you’ve been involved in, right?” Quill asked, as if it were a perfectly natural question. Perhaps it was.

“Yes.” Saal glanced at Quill. “We should call Dey. He’ll know what’s going on.”

Quill nodded. “Shouldn’t he have called us already? I mean, you and him owe each other a catfight, right?”

More oddities. Wasn’t this lovely? Rocket was already pulling up the contact info for Dey and placing the call. The information came through instantly, almost as if Dey had been waiting for it.

“Saal! We have a serious problem.” Dey had matured considerably as a Nova Corps officer since he’d actually been under Garthan’s command, but every so often, something would rattle him enough that Dey switched back to the attitude he’d had as a recruit.

* * *

_“Cheer up, Corpsman, and keep alert. This will be over in forty eight hours.”_

_“How do you know?”_

_“I promised to get you back to Xandar on time, didn’t I?”_

_“But how are we possibly going to get past that warship?”_

_“Unless you or any of the crew have a bright idea, Dey, I’m the one who has to worry about that.”_

* * *

Garthan postponed his questions about Dey’s delay failure to call them earlier. “Explain.”

“You have to come back to Xandar, now. Nova Prime put out the order herself with the Nova Force; _everyone_ heard it. They’re all looking for you.”

“Why?”

“Officially, it’s because you stole the Admantine, although it’s still up in the air that you could be acting under duress.”

“Well that’s what we wanted,” Quill said.

Dey frowned. “No, what we planned was for you six to leave Xandar quickly and quietly and without resorting to breaking the law, which would allow me to cover Saal if things went wrong.”

Quill rolled his eyes, as if Dey was being unreasonable. “Why can’t you cover him now?”

Garthan could answer that. He’d had plenty of time to consider his exit from Xandar, and had come to the official decision that it was an embarrassment to his name and career. It was the worst planned operation he’d ever had a hand in organizing since he was a Corpsman, for Nova’s sake. He’d been seen and recognized by many people and seen with Quill by the gate-guard at the very least. He’d stolen a craft he’d already shown favor towards and stolen it from a friend who could be suspected of aiding him—and she had had to, because he’d hadn’t even been thorough about stealing the damn thing. Mostly though, Garthan knew that Korel would look at the entire debacle and know exactly who was responsible for stealing the Admantine. “The Admantine belonged to Centurion Korel, who happens to hate me. There’s very little evidence that I was acting under duress, and I pissed them off besides. Korel will most definitely not let it go.”

Dey grimaced. “Pissed is putting it lightly. They're the reason I couldn’t call you before. I had to wipe the Admantine’s tags from my system; I was afraid they’d demand to see my call logs. Everyone here assumes I know exactly where you are, including Korel. They've interrogated me and Vakiri.”

“Bastard…”

“The thing is, Korel let on a little more than they meant to about why Nova Corps is looking for you.”

“The unofficial reason?” Rocket said.

Garthan nodded. “Nova Prime wouldn’t send out a Corps-wide message just because I’ve gone AWOL with Nova Corps property. It’s something else. Dey, what do you know? What did Korel say?”

“Not much. Whatever this is, it’s tied up in whatever has been plaguing Nova Prime and the centurions this last year—and Korel hinted that Nova Prime isn’t cooperating with the centurions about it.” Dey shook his head. “Nobody who might tell me more has anymore idea than I do. The centurions know, but…”

“…none of them like me enough to tell you.” There were several centurions from whom Garthan took orders and could get along with, but their favor was by no means set in stone.

Dey’s expression grew even more serious, he glanced away from Garthan at the others, and hesitated. “Saal, have you felt anything odd these last few days? About the Nova Force?”

Garthan shook his head. “I don’t connect to it anymore.” He didn’t mention his escapade with the mining rig, wary of the information finding its way back to Chandra somehow.

“I know. I just thought… well, never mind.”

“What is it, Dey?”

Again Dey glanced at the others. “I think something’s wrong with the Nova Force. It feels… more volatile. Just a bit, but for something that’s supposed to be unchanging…”

Garthan immediately understood why Dey was hesitant to speak in front of the others. They weren’t Nova Corps, and if this was as serious as it sounded, the news should absolutely not be spread to outsiders. At least Quill and his gang were smart enough not to try to join the discussion. “Are you sure?”

“Well, no. I thought it was just me, but then everything else started happening. You taught me not to believe in coincidence, remember? Nova Prime and the centurions are quietly freaking out; the Nova Force feels off; and suddenly you’re a wanted man for no apparent reason.”

“But how is that last one related to the first two?” Garthan mused, more to himself than to Dey.

“A virus,” Rocket said suddenly. Dey and Garthan looked at him strangely.

“The Nova Force may be a big secret hocus pocus thing, but ya’ll plug into it with those implants, no?” Rocket explained. “Some jerk infects one of them, that person plugs into the system and infects everyone else. It would explain why Saal ain’t affected.”

—and why Nova Prime and the centurions would be so worried, Garthan thought. They had the most access to the Nova Force: they would be most affected. But was it possible? “Why wouldn’t Nova Prime just let everyone know, in that case? She could clean out the system.” It was well within her power.

Dey shrugged, looking tired. “I don’t know, Saal. If there’s something serious going on, it’s not safe for you to be running around the galaxy stirring up trouble with these five. You have to come home.”

“Why? I’m in no more danger than I was before.”

“Nova Prime gave the order herself. It’s has to be for good reason.”

* * *

_“You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”_

_“I’m not asking. I just noticed the signs, Saal. Nova Prime herself was in here to tell me what they meant and she made the call. I’m sure she knows exactly what she’s doing.”_

* * *

Garthan took a moment to set his expression. Personal preferences did not factor into command decisions. If Nova Prime said something had to be so, the Nova Corps made it happen—just so. It didn’t matter, Garthan told himself, that he was no longer in Nova Corps and that Irani had been responsible for that fact. “Fine.”

Dey cut the call soon after, and Garthan allowed himself to sink back into the copilot’s chair. He sighed. “Well, Quill, you don’t have to put up with me after all. Volta Six should still be the closest Nova Corps outpost.”

Rocket gave him a sympathetic look. “Tough luck, old man.”

“Whoa, whoa. You’re not getting off that easy,” Quill said. Garthan glanced up at him. Quill grinned his Yondu-grin again. “You’ve been kidnapped, remember? You’ve caused too much trouble for us to let you go now without paying back. We’re two days out from our rendezvous with Onchi’s informant. Nova Corps will just have to wait.”

Garthan regarded the outlaw suspiciously, not quite daring to let himself smile back. “Thirty minutes ago you couldn’t wait to throw me off this ship.”

“That was ages ago, man. Lighten up. I’m feeling magnanimous: let’s put it to a vote. Who wants to drag Saal along with us? As captain, I require everyone to vote yes.”

“I would be honored to have Denarian Saal with us on this mission,” Drax said.

“I am Groot.”

“I dunno, he’s a lawman after all…”

“ _Hamster_.”

“Yeah, whatever, he can stay.”

“Alright, we’ll count Gamora as a _no_.” Quill smirked at Saal. “Majority vote, you’re stuck with us.”

So this was what it felt like to be part of a crew again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: You folks are all so awesome. Your reviews and favs are great, and I can’t believe how popular this story is. I mean, it’s kind of a niche topic, no?
> 
> So, a lot of feels in this chapter, all over the board… Too much? How much do the flashbacks still continue to interest you folks?
> 
> Saal has finally figured it out! He and Peter probably won’t end up killing each other now… Gamora’s still suspicious of Saal though. She comes off as a bitch right now, but that’s because that is how Saal sees her. Gamora is stubborn. Remember, in the movie, it took Peter saving her life and telling her half of his deepest darkest secret for her to trust him. And really, can you blame her? Saal pulled the Thanos card.
> 
> Also, for those of you who enjoyed Rocket’s manipulation of Saal a few chapters ago, it works both ways, as you can see.
> 
> Those of you who thought you were gonna get the scoop on Saal’s injuries this chapter: sit tight for the next one.


	16. Twenty Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I bought you ninety seconds, Peter Quill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Welcome to the school year! May you find time to review and may I find time to write!
> 
> Warnings: insomnia, explicit mention of extreme medical procedures.

Garthan was worried about Dey’s news. He stayed up long past the others to fly the “night shift” and therefore had plenty of time to worry about it. He considered, once or twice, the idea of connecting to the Nova Force to see if he could sense the disruption Dey had spoken of, but ultimately vetoed the idea. Chandra would kill him, if Garthan didn’t accomplish that himself.

Quill had given Garthan vague coordinates for the auto-nav computer, made an inexplicable joke about walking on a plank if Garthan started trouble, and then tried to bully Rocket into talking to Gamora. The argument had gradually shifted to other parts of the ship. It seemed to Garthan that he was the only person taking Dey’s concern seriously. Obviously the others couldn’t be expected to understand the implications of trouble within the Nova Force, but even the news that practically all of Nova Corps was looking for the Admantine hadn’t appeared to alarm them. Did Quill and his gang take anything seriously?

Probably not, if Quill was anything to go by.

* * *

_“Do you believe him?”_

_“I don’t know that I believe anyone is 100% a dick, ma’am.”_

_“Do you believe he’s here to help?”_

_“…Yeah.”_

_“Centurion Korel, your opinion?”_

_“It’s highly unlikely that Ronan could acquire an infinity stone without our notice.”_

_“Unless Intelligence hasn’t been doing its job.”_

_“Denarian Saal, I don’t recall anyone asking for your opinion. You’re a field commander.”_

_“I am interested in Saal’s opinions, Korel. You are not my only advisor.”_

_“My apologies, Nova Prime.”_

_“As a_ field commander _, I recommend we go on full alert. Ronan is dangerous even if he doesn’t have an infinity stone. I’ve seen the Dark Aster; it’s colossal. It’ll tear right through our passive defense systems._

_“You want to deploy every corpsman on the planet based on the gut feeling of a millenian and a tip-off from bunch of outlaws? Thirty seconds ago you said it that it had to be a trick.”_

_“I am fully confident in Millenian Dey’s judgement. I can’t say the same for yours.”_

_“Both of you, behave!”_

_“Nova Prime, what if Ronan does come, and he does have an infinity stone, and Nova Corps isn’t ready?”_

* * *

For the third time in as many days, Garthan’s watch was interrupted by Quill’s sleepwalking. Garthan moved to intercept Quill as soon as he noticed him stumble up from the crew dorm. Quill didn’t run into any walls this time, however.

“Quill?” Garthan passed a hand in front of Quill’s face.

“What? I’m awake.” Quill pushed hastily past Garthan and pulled his music tape out of the player Rocket had built into the Admantine’s dash, hands shaking.

“It would be the first time,” Garthan said as Quill placed the tape carefully in his portable player and fiddled with his headphones.

“Yeah well, at least I try to sleep once in a while. Except for the times you’ve passed out involuntarily, I’ve never seen you sleep at all. I know what insomnia looks like, you know.”

“Rocket?”

Quill nodded. “Rocket. All of us, really, at one point. After Xandar, not sleeping seemed like a great idea.”

Garthan would have been lying if he said he didn’t understand that, so he didn’t say anything at all. His hands were prickling again; they shouldn’t be, not after the dose of suppressant he’d taken just after being inducted into Quill’s crew.

“These coordinates you have are very close to Onchi’s territory,” Garthan said lightly. Uncomfortably close, in Garthan’s opinion, but he was trying for once to be tactful.

“They ought to be; we’re sneaking through Onchi’s blockade in order to see our guy.”

Garthan didn’t have time to formulate a ‘tactful’ response to _that_ —what the _hell_ was Quill thinking?—because Quill noticed Garthan rubbing the skin on his hands and the back of his neck, a reflex Garthan couldn’t help when his pressure sensitivity got too high.

“Are you alright?”

Garthan shook his head. “It’s nothing.” Nothing Quill could do anything about, anyway.

“Nothing like having to call Dr. Stick-Up-His-Ass was nothing?”

Garthan had to smirk at Chandra’s expense. Evidently the good doctor had failed to make a positive impression on the crew of the Admantine.

Quill crossed his arms. “Saal, you gotta spill. I wasn’t kidding earlier.”

If Garthan had learned anything about Peter Quill, it was that Quill might possibly be even more stubborn than Garthan himself, and Garthan didn’t have the energy to argue with him. To be honest, Quill was also right. “Fine. But I have a question or two for you.”

Quill raised an eyebrow, looking mischievous. “Answer for an answer, then?”

“It’s not a game.”

“Yes it is. You can go first.” Quill threw himself into the copilot’s chair and grinned, waiting.

“What does that music tape mean to you?”

Quill’s expression shuttered slightly. “It’s… it’s just the only thing I have left from Terra.”

“You’ve never gone back?” Terra was a backward planet, but it was by no means an insurmountable distance away. Why would Quill never visit?

Quill shrugged. “No reason to. Terra’s not home, you know? Nothing for me there.”

“No family?”

“That’s two questions already. My turn. What is it that Chandra is so worried is going to kill you?”

Garthan considered how to explain. It had been explained to _him_ , but Garthan had yet, in fact, to tell anyone himself.

* * *

_“Rocket? We’re losing the blockade. Rocket, dammit, come in.”_

_“Just hold on, Saal!”_

_“Rock—ty8!6N—j9u……………………….”_

* * *

“During the battle, I tried to use the Nova Force to stop the blockade from breaking. I was channeling probably triple the maximum I can actually handle as a denarian.” Garthan caught Quill’s gaze and held it. “I bought you ninety seconds, Peter Quill, and in that ninety seconds the Nova Force burned out almost my entire nervous system. Chandra designed me an artificial one, and it works about as well as you’ve seen. I have to take the neural suppressants to stop it from overcorrecting.”

Quill shifted uneasily in his seat. “Did you know what would happen when you did it?”

“I was pretty sure it would kill me.” Garthan did not want to reminisce about the battle. He returned to his previous question. “You don’t have any family on Terra, do you?”

Quill shook his head sharply. “Dead, since I was eight. So yeah, unless you count Yondu, I’ve kind of always been on my own.”

Garthan wondered if Quill did count Yondu. It would explain his unusual aversion to confronting Yondu in any way.

“I mean, it’s probably best, since I don’t have anyone to disappoint.” Quill pivoted back and forth in his seat like a kid who couldn’t sit still. “I bet you’re the family favorite, huh? A Nova Corps denarian…”

Quill was not the first person to make that assumption, and the irony of it had long since ceased to bother Garthan. “Actually, quite the opposite. I haven’t spoken to my family since I was seventeen.”

“Why?”

“Is that your question?” Garthan said, reminding Quill that he’d gotten off topic. However, Quill’s interest had been peaked.

“Uh, yes.”

“Believe it or not, joining the Nova Corps was quite a rebellious move back in the day. They disowned me.”

“You, a rebel?”

Garthan rolled his eyes. “Why did you join the Ravagers?”

Quill snorted. “Join? I never got asked. That’s just the way I grew up. Besides, it’s way more exciting than doing anything else. It’s like being Indiana Jones.”

Quill had been picked up as a kid. That was a rather significant fact for Garthan to have overlooked. Had Dey mentioned it? Garthan was familiar with the way Ravagers and other pirate gangs ran their ships. It was no way to grow up. Though it didn’t excuse Quill’s adult criminality, it explained how he’d fallen into it, and perhaps mitigated it slightly. Garthan tried to recall Quill’s record, but it had been over a year and he didn’t have the Nova Force to jog his memory.

* * *

_“Peter Jason Quill, from Terra. Raised from youth by a band of Ravagers led by Yondu Udonta. Wanted for multiple counts of theft, robbery, trespassing, and resisting arrest. Also known as Starlord.”_

_“Who calls him that?”_

_“Himself, mostly.”_

_“What a bunch of a-holes.”_

* * *

Garthan filed the problem away for consideration. He may have to rethink his opinion of Quill. “You certainly seem to enjoy excitement,” he said dryly.

“Okay, so what about the rest of you? You’ve got some sort of terminator thing going on, right? I mean, your hand’s not the only thing they had to fix. Right?”

“My fighter was crushed around me. A more appropriate question would be what Chandra _didn’t_ replace.” Garthan paused, mentally recalling Chandra’s reports: “My left arm and shoulder. The bones in my right hand and lower arm. Six ribs on my left side, two on my right. My collarbone. Forty percent of my spine.”

“Damn.”

“Not done. My lower jaw. My left ear, part of my right. My entire left leg, and most of the bones in the right one. Complete DNA reconstruction on a handful of internal organs and partial reconstruction to repair the rest and regrow most of my skin.” It was extensive damage but not impossible to repair—except that the medical technology to do so depended on the patient having a working nervous system.

“How are you still alive?”

How indeed. Garthan tried not to let himself wonder why he had survived the failure of the blockade while every single one of his corpsmen had died. He’d lost soldiers several times before the Battle for Xandar, and although such things never got easier, it was something he’d had to come to terms with long ago. “The Nova Force.”

“How can the same thing that almost killed you also save you?”

“The Nova Force is like fire: it can be helpful or harmful. There’s a ghost story we tell recruits about a millenian who tried to channel the entire Nova Force in order to save his battalion, and ended up destroying an entire moon, killing himself and everyone he was trying to save. I very nearly became the next best example. I can’t use the Nova Force anymore; it’s why I was forcibly retired, by the way.”

Quill’s fingers tapped at his music player. Something had set him on edge; Garthan noticed that each time Garthan spoke of the battle, Quill had grown unusually distracted. It reminded him that he didn’t know much about Quill’s part in the battle, not after the blockade went down, anyway. “Quill, what did you do with those ninety seconds? The hearsay is a little too fantastic to be true.”

Garthan knew that the Dark Aster crashed into the city, that the Guardians had killed Ronan, and that they had stopped the infinity stone from touching the planet. That much was obvious from the fact that Xandar still existed. However, the details remained universally vague despite the many witnesses, or were classified in the case of Nova Corps records. Classified on a need-to-know basis, and Nova Prime had decided Garthan didn’t need to know. It had also been obvious that something quite spectacular had occurred, and no one who knew about it wanted to talk about it.

Including, apparently, Quill: “Oh, you know, dance-off to the death with Ronan, no big deal. Look, I gotta get some sleep. Don’t crash us, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So, we learned a lot about Saal here, and Saal learned a little bit about Peter. Are there any loose ends you guys are still wondering about? 
> 
> What I love most about reviews is hearing people’s favorite parts, or their predictions, and seeing if I can incorporate more of each into what is coming! Keep it up, guys!
> 
> Next time, we will get to the whole point of this misadventure: contacting Onchi’s informant.
> 
> So, I’ve done no medical research for Saal’s various conditions. I just went with what seemed both reasonable and dramatic. Opinions? Does it work well? At all?


	17. The Informant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, things do not go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Happy almost-October! Foot still broken, but doing better.
> 
> Warnings: mentions of torture

“Come on, old man! I’m losing money here.”

Garthan would have rolled his eyes and sent an appropriate insult back at Rocket if he hadn’t been trying to keep Drax from edging in on his right side. Garthan and Drax were sparring again, and Rocket had organized a betting pool. It consisted of Rocket, Groot and Garthan; Drax had declined, while Garthan was in it to get the passcode for the commander’s cabin from Rocket.

“Right there! Ya could’ve got a hit in! Did they teach ya anything in Nova Corps?” Rocket caterwauled from his perch on a cargo rack.

Garthan had taken Drax’s tips to heart, and as a result was no longer getting his feet knocked out from underneath him every sixty seconds, but he had not yet managed to launch a successful offensive on Drax.

“I’d like to see you do better,” Garthan said lightly, short of breath, as he blocked a heavy strike from Drax with his better arm and ducking back out of his reach. Garthan watched Drax’s movements—a shift in stance, a flicking in his gaze—and held back, breathing heavily.

“How old are you really, Denarian?” Drax asked—loudly, since Quill was blasting his music over the intercom again—sounding as fresh and unfazed as he had when Garthan had asked to spar again earlier. “You seem quite hale to me.”

“Forty”—Garthan feinted towards Drax’s right—“eight!”—and managed to catch Drax by surprise with a sharp jab of his left elbow in Drax’s side. Drax staggered backward, grinning genuinely at Garthan’s successful blow.

“Really?” Rocket said. “Ha! You _are_ an old man,”

“Then why”—Garthan pressed his advantage, blocking Drax’s blind jab and interrupting his footing with a well-placed kick—“did you bet on me?”

“Because Groot bet on the maniac.”

Garthan darted around, trying to slip behind ‘the maniac’ before he caught his balance again, but Drax used his momentum to spin around and kick Garthan solidly in the chest. Garthan was nearly knocked off his feet, and it was his turn to stagger uncertainly, struggling to regain his breath as Drax advanced on him.

“Groot is a wise gambler. I always triumph in competitions of battle prowess.”

“Wise-ass gambler is more like it. Ze bets with my money.”

Both Rocket and Drax’s voices were louder than they had been a moment ago, and Quill’s music, which Garthan had been able to tune out earlier, was suddenly very distracting. Garthan struggled to dodge Drax’s attacks.

“I am Groot.”

“You do too! Why are you lying?”

One of Garthan’s blocks was just a hair too slow, and Drax landed a hit on the side of Garthan’s head that left his ears ringing—and they didn’t stop. Garthan lost track of Drax completely, and lost his footing. He threw his hands up: “Hold! Hold!”

“Denarian, are you injured?”

“Shh! Just—shh!” Garthan could not believe this. His neural suppressants were wearing off unpredictably, and had been since their encounter with Yondu. First pressure, now hearing… stars damn Quill’s music! Why did he have to blast it through the intercom?

Before Garthan could pull himself together and go for his meds, Rocket appeared with them. Rocket was almost too sharp for his own good, but Garthan was grateful for it at that moment. Drax took the hallway to the cockpit, and presently Quill’s music stopped.

“What’s up?” asked Quill as he came in, trailed by Drax and Gamora. He directed the question at Rocket instead of Garthan, and Garthan wondered what he had said last night to estrange Quill. _Again_.

“Whatever chemist you got these from cheated you,” Garthan said softly as he picked out a too-large dose of auditory suppressant. “They’re wearing off too quickly.”

“You’re not running out, are ya?” Rocket asked.

Garthan shook his head, hoping the medication would kick in quickly.

“We’re in Onchi’s territory now. If you break down you’re going to be out of luck,” observed Gamora. She glanced at Quill. “We should stop on Sertili Two and make contact with Dey’s rebels first: they may have resources for us.” Garthan got the feeling that Gamora wasn’t making the argument for his sake as much as using him to further an argument of her own. Judging by Quill’s look, it was an ongoing one.

“Chillax, okay? Dey hasn’t even given us a contact with those folks. You’re making it too complicated. This is literally a smash and grab. It’ll be fine.”

Quill’s tone was easy. He was sure of himself, but Garthan couldn’t help but think of the dubious success of their last “smash and grab” kidnapping job.

“This is Kree space,” Garthan said. His ears had already stopped ringing, and his head was clearing considerably. “Having sympathetic allies as a possible exit route would be safer.”

“ _You’re_ agreeing with _her_?”

“Of course!” Gamora said. “Only an idiot would think that we can just fly through Kree space and land on one of Onchi’s planets with a Nova Corps ship purely on improvisation.”

Well, if Gamora hated Garthan at least she considered him more intelligent than Quill.

“I’m all for improvawhat if it means I can blow something up. Dey’s not bad for a lawman but he only ever gives us boring jobs.”

“No one is blowing up anything,” Gamora said.

“Speaking of Nova Corps: Saal, get ready to play denarian. Uniform and everything. Our contact will call us when we approach Sertili Seven and you’re driving,” Quill announced. “Rocket, need you to work with Saal to mock up some Nova tags.”

Gamora looked positively mutinous. “Peter, if you don’t let up with his lone hero thing you’ve got going on…”

“I can handle this, okay? Can I turn the Awesome Mix back on now?”

Garthan was tempted to say no, even though his hearing was back down to normal, but he reminded himself he was trying not to be an a-hole, and didn’t. After the group dispersed, Garthan looked to Drax. “Is there something _other_ than me bothering Quill?”

Drax looked thoughtful, “What makes you believe yourself a nuisance to Quill?”

“I am Groot.” Ze suddenly stretched—or _grew_ , he was doing that more often now—a hand past Garthan to Rocket.

“Whoa, whoa—What do you mean, ‘pay up’?”

“I am Groot.”

“Fuck that. It was clearly a draw. Saal was holding his own.”

“Does that mean you’ll tell me the passcode?” Garthan asked. Rocket had bet Garthan he would lose, so a draw ought to count. Garthan hadn’t even bothered to ask why Rocket bet both ways.

Rocket laughed. “Fat chance, old man.”

Garthan was not really surprised. Garthan had known for years that at least half of Rocket’s motivation for any given action came from a gleeful desire to be a jerkass. “You lying little cretin.”

* * *

_“So is this your grand plan?”_

_“I’m working on it.”_

_“I can see that it’s going swimmingly.”_

_“Shut up, Korel.”_

_“Forgive me if I’m not keen,_ sir _, on waiting for Nova Corps to rescue us while these bastards think up more new ways to torture us.”_

* * *

“Quill, we’re being hailed.” Garthan was at the Admantine’s controls; he were cautiously orbiting Sertili Seven, jumping orbitals every few minutes to avoid showing up on ground control radar.

Quill jumped, switching off his music and scrambling over to check out the hail. “Yep, that’s the code Dey gave us. It’s them.”

Garthan answered the hail. The screen remained dark; their contact was apparently skittish about showing thier face.

“Identify yourself,” demanded a crisp female voice.

“I’m Denarian Garthan Saal of Nova Corps. Is this ‘Kavada’ or ground control?”

“If I were ground control your ship wouldn’t exist any longer. Turn off your tags.” Kavada’s tone was brief, unemotional and direct. She sounded like Garthan.

Garthan shut off their tags with relief. Broadcasting tags made it impossible to run stealth shields, and Garthan wasn’t looking to get shot out of the sky by the first Kree ship curious enough to scan them. “I understand you have some information for Nova Corps?”

“A Nova Corps ship does not a Nova corpsman make. I need proof of your identity.”

That was simple. There was a commonly-known official signal, a small demonstration of the Nova Force, which was literally effortless and impossible to counterfeit. It only worked in-person; Nova Corps used tags for inter-ship identification. “I can give that to you when we meet. Where are you?”

Kavada gave him coordinates for a private dock on planet, told him she would take care of ground control, and cut the call. Garthan didn’t have time to argue. Docking on planet was a bad idea. Planetary atmosphere had a nasty habit of slowing down hasty exits.

 “Well, she’s a charmer,” Quill said.

“Kinda reminds ya of someone we know, eh Groot?”

“Shut up, hamster.” Garthan hesitated at the controls. “Quill, I don’t like the idea of taking the Admantine down there. We’re already in hostile space. Docking on that planet gives Kavada another advantage on us.”

“That’s right,” Gamora said. She managed to agree with Garthan without looking at or mentioning him. “She can already sell us out to ground control at any time. If she truly wants to talk she can come up here and talk on our territory.”

Gamora was an assassin, Garthan mused. Her method of operation was far more cautious than Quill’s—just like Garthan’s although for different reasons. Assassins couldn’t take risks because one wrong move could blow their cover; a corpsman couldn’t because one wrong move could get everyone serving with them killed.

“Yeah, she can sell us out to ground control at any time _and she hasn’t_.” Quill pointed out. “You two act like everyone we meet is gonna want to kill us.”

“That has, with few exceptions, been our experience,” Drax said.

Nobody could argue with that. Quill didn’t let the silence last. “It’s fine. We’re the Guardians of the Galaxy. If something goes wrong, we can handle it. The Admantine busted off of Xandar just fine.”

The Guardians of the Galaxy. Oh stars. Garthan glanced at Gamora to see her reaction and caught her glancing at him. He shrugged, not willing take responsibility for persuading Quill.

She rolled her eyes and looked away, crossing her arms. “Fine. Down to the planet.”

* * *

_“You haven’t volunteered any ideas of your own.”_

_“You were the one who wanted to be a big damn hero. Besides, I’ve been collecting intel. The morons are giving me everything.”_

_“You do realize they can hear you?”_

_“Doesn’t matter. I’m the best intel officer in Nova Corps. They couldn’t hide anything from me if they tried.”_

_“The best intel officer in Nova Corps would not be one who let all of their corpsmen die.”_

_“Still going to put me on review, then?”_

* * *

Whatever influence Kavada had with ground control, it worked. Not a soul challenged them as they broke atmosphere and docked at a private landing pad, on what looked like a cross between a country estate and a factory.  It was a well-furnished dock, and almost too spacious, but there were no other space-capable ships in sight. Still suspicious, Garthan ran an unobtrusive scan with both radar and visual; nothing suspicious came up on either. Maybe Quill was right.

Two armed Kree guards watched them from the entrance of the main building, and when a very tall Kree woman strode outside, they followed her to the Admantine.

“Damn.” Quill whistled appreciatively, eyes tracking her lithe movements. He was outfitted in his Ravager coat and his black market expandimask, and had been, for a change, as uneasy as Garthan about leaving behind their weapons. He was coming along to meet her.

“Keep it in your pants, Peter,” Gamora warned. She was coming along as well, and Garthan was fairly certain that she had blatantly ignored the no-weapons stricture and had several deadly tools hidden on her person. Knowing her, they were probably made of poly-plastic and undetectable by anything save an actual pat-down, if that.

“I know, I know.” Quill gave Rocket a salute. “You’re on, Ranger Rick. Don’t blow anything up while we’re gone. Seriously.”

“I know, I know. Hey, Saal.” Rocket tossed a small silvery object at Garthan. It was thumbprint transmitter, and looked crude but powerful. No doubt Rocket had recently jerry-rigged it from the supplies on the Admantine. “Panic button.”

* * *

_“What is this, Chandra?”_

_“Panic button. Like what calls the nurses, but this you can take with you. Turning it on will notify both me and the nearest emergency medical unit.”_

_“So I can use it to pull you out of bed whenever I want?”_

_“Don’t you dare.”_

* * *

Garthan wondered whether Rocket meant it as a panic button for the mission or for Garthan himself. He gave Rocket a nod and slipped it into a pocket with his spare meds.

For the first time in a week—it seemed like forever—Garthan stepped outside the Admantine. The air on Sertili Seven tasted slightly metallic and it was very cool. A bit of wind picked at the edges of Garthan uniform.

Kavada was even taller than Garthan in person. She stood confidently waiting for them to approach, her guards alert.

“Hey there,” Quill said. To his credit, his tone was only a little flirtatious.

Kavada glanced at Quill, raised a dismissive eyebrow, and then turned her attention back to Garthan. “So?”

Garthan nodded. He held out his left hand—he was left-handed, and for some reason the signal was easier with your dominant hand—and summoned the Nova Corps symbol: a spherical sunburst made of crackling golden energy, very low level, about the size of a fist. It was a simulation of a particular supernova observed many years ago, which was why it was too difficult to counterfeit. It flashed three times before winking out. Garthan noticed that the signal had been much brighter than he remembered. “Denarian Saal, at your service.”

Kavada nodded. “Good. Who are your companions?”

“Peter Quill. People call me Starlord.”

Garthan refrained from rolling his eyes. Barely. Gamora introduced herself and Kavada asked if they needed her attendants to finish docking the Admantine. Garthan explained that the rest of their party was waiting aboard, prompting Kavada make a quick gesture to one of the guards.

“This way then, and we will talk. We must hurry. You cannot stay hidden on planet too long, and I cannot be away from Onchi without raising suspicion.”

The first room was an emergency airlock, which made the building more likely to be military in function. It was possibly a safe house, Garthan thought, if a very luxurious one. How far would they be allowed to go before Kavada had them searched?

Not far. Kavada impressed Garthan very much by remaining in the scanner with them. Her results loaded onto the crystal viewscreen right next to theirs. It was a significant display of transparency; Kavada was free of weapons.

Quill’s music player, mask and bootjets were flagged, but as non-threats. Garthan would’ve confiscated the last two—they were civilian-grade versions of military gadgets but no less dangerous if used effectively—but luckily Kavada didn’t. No concealed weapon registered in Gamora’s scan but Garthan refused to believe she didn’t have one somewhere.

Gamora’s cybernetic bodymods registered correctly as such; Garthan’s prostheses did not. Too many of them, he supposed. Kavada tensed at the mass of “unidentifiable” flags.

“Cybernetic reconstruction,” Garthan said quickly.

“That much?”

Garthan nodded tightly, hoping she wouldn’t demand an explanation. He realized his hand was in his pocket, handling Rocket’s panic button anxiously—it hadn’t showed up because his prostheses masked it. A handy thing to keep in mind.

Kavada lead them to an empty conference room, decorated with the very traditional Kree murals that Garthan had always thought a touch creepy. The building—safehouse?—was deserted, as far as Garthan could tell.  Kavada must be very important and very good at keeping secrets. The room held no chairs—another Kree custom—and Kavada got straight to the point as soon as they were all inside. Two new guards hovered behind her like twin shadows.

“I can give you information that will allow Nova Corps to bypass Lord Onchi’s blockade and aid the rebel movement. However, it is a great risk to myself. I am an important person in Sertili; the rebels do not love me and Onchi will not either if I give you this information.”

“So you want a pardon and safe passage out of Onchi’s territory,” Gamora said.

“Yes. Immediately, if possible. That is why I insisted on meeting a true representative of Nova Corps.”

Kavada was not in this for altruistic reasons, then. Dey would be able to arrange a pardon for Kavada, if she wasn’t an actual war criminal. Safe passage out could be managed with the Admantine, if Quill was up to it. Squeezing yet another stranger onto the ship would be _delightful_ , Garthan was sure. “That can be arranged.”

Quill nodded. “Yeah, as long as you don’t mind rubbing elbows with us for the trip.” His tone suggested that ‘us’ meant ‘me’ and that elbows weren’t necessarily the critical body parts involved. Garthan wished Quill would wait to woo her until after she gave them the intel. Luckily, she hadn’t take offense. Yet.

“I want to be sure. I have heard that corpsmen can do spectacular things, but if Onchi comes after me with a battleship I do not want to be relying on urban legends.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Quill said. “We’ve got the best damn ship in Nova Corps, and Saal here is a very capable pilot. Almost as good as I am.”

Considering the situation, Garthan decided to let that one go.

“Onchi has ships and pilots as well. What you have that interests me, Denarian Saal, is the Nova Force. It is true that all corpsman can use it, correct?”

“Yes…” Garthan said with the slightest hesitation. What Kavada didn’t need to know wouldn’t hurt her. They had gotten here [mostly] without the Nova Force; they could get away without it as well.

“What can it do?” pressed Kavada.

Garthan and Quill glanced at each other.

* * *

“ _How can the same thing that almost killed you also save you?”_

* * *

“I’m not at liberty to discuss it. Rest assured that you will be quite safe.”

Kavada’s expression tightened. She looked displeased. Perhaps she was used to getting her way. “Very well. I have”—Kavada cut off, and pulled a holo-tablet from her pocket, frowning at it. “I must leave you for a moment. Please wait here.”

When she was gone, and her guards with her, Garthan suggested dryly to Quill that he keep his flirting to a minimum. “This is business, not pleasure.”

“Hey, if James Bond can do it so can I. Besides, hero business is hard work. Gotta play hard too, you know?”

“She’s hard to read,” Gamora observed.

“No kidding. I can’t tell if she’s interested or not.”

“Peter!”

Suddenly, Quill’s communicator whined loudly.  Quill answered, and Rocket’s voice was so loud Garthan and Gamora could both hear it without moving closer. “Quill! A fucking bomb just went off underneath us. The fusion core seal is broken.”

“What? Is the landing pad under attack? What do mean underneath you?”

“I mean the damn pad is booby-trapped.”

Garthan immediately checked the door. It did not open at his prompt. They had been neatly trapped. “Tell him to take off, Quill.”

“Rocket, get out of here. Right now. Call Dey, and stay”—the communicator suddenly shut down, connection lost—“Rocket! …Shit. _Shit._ ” Quill threw it away.

“It was a set up,” Gamora said with a growl in her tone.

“Why, though? To even set this up they would have to already have an inside guy with the rebels. What do they need us for?” Quill asked. He tapped his music player, and paced between Gamora and Garthan.

“You mean: What do they need a Nova Corps officer for?” Garthan said. He had a strong feeling that this was not going to end well.

Suddenly, a short soft static sound signaled the presence of hidden speakers in the room. No doubt there were cameras to match, Garthan thought with dismay. He was certainly a spectacular corpsman these days, wasn’t he? He should never have fallen for a set up like this.

An instant later they heard Kavada’s voice. “For the one thing the Nova Corps cannot defend against: itself. You, Denarian, are going to let us into the Nova Force.”

No, this was definitely not going to end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So I was writing notes for this chapter during Spanish class, and when I looked at them later to start writing, half of the notes were in Spanish and half were in English, all mixed up together. Haha. It reminded me that I ought to translate some of my other finished fics.
> 
> So, again, I made up the Nova Corps symbol and related details. Just like policemen are required to identify themselves as such in certain situations, so are Nova Corps personnel. They’re too high tech for badges, though…
> 
> I settled for an age of 48 for Saal, which means he’s been in Nova Corps for 29 years.
> 
> The flashbacks we’ve had recently relate to the “fiasco with Korel” which happened way back when both Saal and Korel worked in Nova Corps’ Intelligence division.


	18. Plan B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they don’t actually have a Plan B.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Okay, two things. Very important.
> 
> 1) I rewrote part of Chapter 17, because I put it out in such a hurry that the last half was a little weak. I urge you to reread it, but you will survive if you don’t.
> 
> 2) I am participating in National Novel Writing Month, which means that I do not plan to update during the entire month of November. It breaks my heart to step away from this fic so long, but I will be concentrating on the second draft of my original scifi novel. Wish me luck! It’s called Radioactive, and is just as cool as this story.
> 
> Warnings: violence.

It was impossible to do what Kavada wanted. Even before Ronan, when the Nova Force had not been a problem for Garthan, it would still have been impossible. The Nova Force didn’t respond to just anyone, even if they had a proper implant. Kavada—and Onchi, who was presumably behind this—should already have known this, because trying to steal the Nova Force certainly wasn’t an original idea, and it hadn’t ever worked before. You would think enemies of Nova Corps would get together and compare notes more often…

Unfortunately, while this meant that Nova Corps was probably safe, it also meant Kavada would have no reason to keep him alive if she found out.

“You will remain motionless while my warriors come to collect you.”

Garthan tried to take in the whole situation, find some detail somewhere that would help them escape or at least give them an advantage. Every plan ended in a dead end.

“Oh, honey, that’s not how it works,” Quill said. He tapped the side of his exandimask and it unfolded across his face. He gazed purposefully around the room. “You’re supposed to give him a chance to join the dark side.”

“Nova Corpsmen don’t switch sides.”

It was true, famously so. Not even Korel, with all their ambition, would ever turn on Nova Corps.

“ _I’m_ not in Nova Corps.”

Garthan frowned. What was Quill doing?

“Then I have no need of you.”

Quill gaze lingered on a spot on one of the walls. “Too bad. I have a bit of information about Saal that you would have been really interested in.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Not bluffing, making an offer. The thing about mercenaries is that they have to be bought.” Quill beckoned Gamora over, away from Garthan. She complied immediately, and he retracted his mask. “Up to now, Nova Corps has been the highest bidder.”

There was a long pause from Kavada. Garthan watched Quill carefully. _Was_ he lying? Garthan didn’t want to believe it, but a sour, curling doubt in his mind that reminded him that Quill was _not_ Nova Corps.

“And now?”

Quill shrugged, and threw an arm around Gamora’s shoulders. “You got a nice cruiser for two and a free pass out of the system?”

* * *

_“Yondu, it’s me. I’m coming over, okay? Promise you’ll leave the others alone—”_

_“Peter! That is not a plan.”_

* * *

The knot in Garthan’s chest came undone. Quill was bluffing, because he hadn’t asked once about Rocket, Groot and Drax. Whatever else Peter Quill was, Garthan knew he wouldn’t leave his crew behind. Quill was bluffing—and unlike Garthan, Kavada didn’t seem to have bought it.

Glad he had not let his stern expression change, Garthan closed the distance between himself and Quill. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Quill?”

“Hey man, it’s nothing personal.” Quill took a step back while Gamora stepped forward defensively.

“You son of a—”

Gamora knocked him sharply backward with a strong blow to the chest that forced down on one knee to maintain his balance. She wasn’t holding back; she’d moved too fast for Garthan to have dodged even if he wanted to. He supposed he couldn’t expect her to be gentle. Still, it was slightly harder to pretend to be enraged with all of his breath knocked out of him. Gamora watched him dispassionately, her stance visually daring him to make another move.

“Stop,” Kavada said. “I need him alive still. You and I will talk, Quill, and if your information is useful, I will consider letting you live. Stand away from the door: my people will subdue you if you cause trouble.”

Garthan remained where he was, looking carefully sullen. He had no idea what Quill’s plan was but for lack of a better one, he was going along with it.

The door opened, and six armed Kree, all men, marched in. They were carrying energy weapons, which could be lethal depending on the power setting and where they hit. A blast to the head would kill you, low setting or not. The brain was too sensitive. Garthan wasn’t sure what a hit might do to him.

Garthan watched the way the group moved, who was in command, who was the most experienced, who had something to prove. Years of breaking in new crews made the differences obvious. The three of them were each cornered with two guards. Quill grinned cheerfully at his, and then turned towards the spot on the wall he’d been so interested in a few moments ago. Garthan suspected Quill had used his mask to find a camera there. “Kavada, babe, one more thing.”

He flipped her off, and the gesture morphed immediately into an elbow jab to the throat of the Kree on his right. He took off his mask with his other hand and tossed it at Gamora. “Door!”

Garthan’s own guards, both newer and more uneasy than their comrades, brought their weapons to bear on Quill instead of Garthan. Bad idea. Garthan disarmed one and left him with a broken arm, but lost his grip on the captured gun when the other clipped his side with a low level shot.

The unpleasant shock reverberated through Garthan painfully, setting all his joints tingling. Garthan lost track of several seconds of battle before it dissipated.

“Saal, duck!”

Garthan dropped just in time to miss another shot from the Kree he’d been fighting, who was felled an instant later by a lethal shot from Quill across the room. Garthan looked around for the next threat and saw that every single one of the guards was down for the count—thanks to Quill, apparently. He had an energy weapon in each hand and was still grinning widely. His hair stood frantically on end and he crackled when he moved, like Garthan, which meant he’d been hit at least once too.

“You alright?”

“Well, I feel like a light socket.” He raised one of the guns, adjusted the power with his thumb, and shorted out Kavada’s hidden camera. “Gamora?”

“The door is disabled. She can’t close it on us, but we shouldn’t stick around,” said as she took off Quill’s mask and handed it back to him. Garthan glanced at the door to see that she’d punched a hole in the adjacent wall with one of the guns to access the door’s hardware inside. Quill’s mask must have let her find the exact location.

Garthan retrieved on of the spare weapons, wincing when a spark of dissipating energy jumped from his hand to the gun and back, shocking him again. Garthan hated energy weapons.

Quill looked around for his communicator and found it underneath one of the bodies.  “It’s jammed. I can’t even get a call through. We have to find some other way to contact the others.”

“What we need is a plan to get out of here,” Gamora said. “If the others got away, then they can’t come back and get us, and if they didn’t…”

Rocket had mentioned a crack in the fusion core seal, which wouldn’t cripple the Admantine but would slow her down considerably—but Garthan wasn’t worried. Rocket and the others were still alive, which meant they had gotten away. If Kavada had gotten them, they’d be dead and he would know. Garthan was more worried about their own chances of escaping. “We should head up to the landing pad. We can steal one of Kavada’s cruisers, and meet the others somewhere in orbit.”

Gamora and Quill turned away from each other look at him. “We don’t know if they’re up there.”

“They’re up there.”

“How do you know?”

Oh. _Oh._ Stars be damned, how had he tapped into the Nova Force without noticing? Garthan could sense it now, the subtle mental awareness of each member of his new ‘crew’: Quill and Gamora, bright and close with their nervousness; Drax, Rocket and Groot, fainter and farther away but alive. Nova Corps called it spatial empathy—one of a handful of talents a corpsman might or might not develop naturally with exposure to the Nova Force, according to their temperament. People were always absurdly amused to hear that the _Salt Pillar_ was part of the group of corpsmen famous for their exuberant protectiveness.

Spatial empathy was a good way to keep track of your crew—but because it worked through the Nova Force, it only worked with fellow corpsmen. Garthan should not be able to sense Quill or any of the others. He had no idea what was going on, let alone how to begin explaining it.

“Ah… the Nova Force, more or less. I’ll explain when we’re safe in orbit.”

Quill looked at Garthan with an expression close to suspicion, as if he clearly recalled Garthan’s admission that he couldn’t use the Nova Force. Thankfully, he didn’t argue. “Let’s go then.”

They slipped into the corridor, Gamora leading the way because her “super-secret photographic super-spy memory” had memorized the pat from the door. Without a map of the building it was no use trying to sneak out a back way. Quill unfolded his mask once more and shot the security cameras as they went, which kept Kavada from seeing them but still unfortunately left her with an idea of where they were. As a result, it wasn’t too surprising when the three of them turned a corner and stepped into heavy fire. They retreated hastily back behind the corner.

“And I’d finally stopped sparking…” Quill shook his head. “I’m gonna turn into a Christmas tree.”

“They’ve got biolasers now.” Gamora slid up the sleeve on her right arm to show a short but nasty burn there—biolasers only burned living material. She was lucky it was only a grazing hit. “Looks like Kavada’s more worried about us escaping than about keeping Saal alive.”

“Is that a good thing?” Quill asked, before turning briefly around the corner to spray half a dozen energy shots into their attackers’ corridor.

“It means we can’t use him as a hostage.”

Trust Gamora to come up with that as a first option. “Kavada thinks I have access to the Nova Force, and she has no idea how it works. For all we know she thinks shots will bounce off me.”

“Will they?” Quill asked.

Garthan rolled his eyes. “No. The Nova Force isn’t some sort of superpower. It’s like luck: a wound will clot faster, or a shot that should’ve crippled your ship won’t… All small things.”

Quill glanced around the corner and pulled back just barely in time to avoid a singed nose. “We could use some luck right now. Here they come.”

They most certainly could, but Garthan was not about to push his own luck. So far, using the Nova Force had not had any serious repercussions. He chose to ignore Quill’s implied request. “Let’s not be here when they arrive.”

* * *

_“Saal, you can’t pull this off. You’re crazy.”_

_“There’s not any other option. We’ve only got a limited time frame, or else we’re not ever escaping.”_

_“You’re only a millenian. You literally do not have enough Nova Force.”_

_“Would you prefer me to let you bleed to death?”_

_“You could give me a field promotion.”_

_“Your ambition has no limits, does it?”_

* * *

They backtracked down the corridor they’d come from, which had the benefit of having all its cameras already destroyed, so Kavada couldn’t tell exactly where they were. That was, it seemed, their only advantage. The building was huge, and they’d been escorted past the more varied—and tactically useful—areas to a section of long hallways and locked rooms. There was always only a corner separating them from their pursuers, who had grown cautious after turning two corners to meet a face full of energy blasts. It was only a matter of time, Garthan was sure, before they decided to split up and trap the three of them from both sides. Garthan thought furiously, trying to manipulate the angles and facts into a pattern he could take advantage of, something that would let them all walk out of this alive.

“Wait, wait.” Garthan stopped abruptly as they passed a raised panel in the wall. The way it curved outward looked like a flexgrav tube—and it had a sealed access panel. “Can either of you read any Kree dialects?”

Gamora nodded, which meant Garthan wouldn’t have to use the Nova Force to translate. Thank the stars for small blessings. Gamora’s face lit up as she read the curling letters on the panel’s warning sticker. “It’s a flexgrav tube.”

“A what?” Quill asked.

“It’s an architectural technology they use in military bunkers and large buildings,” Gamora explained, fingers tracing the access panel’s lock. “They support a building from inside and absorb vibrations from things like earthquakes and nukes. You can’t build them in space.” Quill, Ravager-raised and a spacer to the bone, would not have had experience with them.

“Most importantly, they always have an outlet to the outside of the building,” Garthan said.

“So we can get out through here?”

“We can do more than that. Once we get out and steal a ship from the docking pad, if we fire one shot into the outlet the whole tube system will collapse.”—Gamora smirked—“Good bye Kavada.”

Quill grinned. “Sounds like a plan to me.” Their attention was caught by sounds of movement that echoed down the corridor—their pursuers were bound to turn into this corridor soon, and there was no cover for them. “How fast can you get that panel open?”

“That’s not the important question.” Gamora pressed the barrel of her energy weapon to the access panel’s lock and fired at max power. The gun and the panel sparked violently and a puff of smoke burst from the seam around the lock. She discarded the gun and opened the door to reveal an unlighted vertical tube several feet of across. The tiny shards of wire and debris from the lock that had fallen into the tube floated silently in the null gravity. “How fast can you fly to the nearest outlet, break the atmosphere seal and get back here? There’s no air in there.”

Quill glanced down the corridor and frowned. “And leave you here?”

Gamora rolled her eyes and pushed him towards the opening. “Move, Peter.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Quill tapped his mask to unfold it. “Be right back. Don’t have any fun without me.” He used his boots jets to launch himself into the opening and up out of sight.

Gamora looked at Garthan. “Will you be able to tell if he gets into trouble?”

“If he’s hurt, yes.” They had no working communicator; aside from Garthan’s vague sense of Quill’s direction and wellbeing, they had no way to contact each other.

Gamora picked up Quill’s extra gun, closed the access door and motioned down the corridor. “We need to cut them off at the end of the corridor. I don’t want them trying to follow Peter through the tube if they overrun us. If we stay away they may not notice it.”

Garthan nodded and followed Gamora away from the flexgrav tube, towards the corner they’d turned earlier. It was too quiet, and when they ducked around to check it out they found out why: Kavada’s guards were waiting, settled in doorways and ready with biolasers to keep them from coming down that hallway. They didn’t advance at all, made no move to chase after Garthan and Gamora.

“They’re boxing us in this hallway,” Garthan said. It was an obvious set up, one he would have used in Kavada’s place. He and Gamora were blocked at this corner, and with all of the doors under Kavada’s remote control, the only direction they could go was the other end of the hall. There would be a team of Kree soldiers waiting there too. Unless Quill got back very soon they were going to be surrounded. “Could we force a door from the outside, do you think?”

Gamora seemed to think it over. “It would take too long. Besides, besieged in a room is no better than trapped in a hall.”

“Out here they can shoot at us from both sides.”

Gamora held up her energy gun and smirked in such a grimly feral way that Garthan had to remind himself she was on his side. “Not if we shoot them first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Long note today! 
> 
> The Guardians get their chance to kick ass here! [At least Quill and Gamora—Rocket and the rest will be kicking ass later.] Peter especially gets to be a badass here because he’s spent the whole fic getting an F in “planning” without being able to show why he gets an A in “hero stuff”. Peter’s strong suit is improvisation. Essentially, everything goes to shit around Peter because he is good at dealing with shit. Neither Gamora nor Saal operate this way, which is why they each end up arguing with him so much.
> 
> You should basically assume in this fic that if something relates to the Nova Force, I’ve made it up. I’ll let ya know otherwise.
> 
> Saal mentions that he could’ve used the Nova Force to translate Kree; how I imagine this works is that the Nova Force can operate like Asgard’s Allspeak, but it only works for languages that at least one person in Nova Corps can speak fluently, because it is essentially that person’s knowledge of the language that is disseminated to everyone else.
> 
> Saal’s spatial empathy [which exists but is less cool in real life] is like an accidental specialization of the Nova Force. While any corpsman can track their subordinates’ locations mentally, Saal is naturally super-responsible and does so all the time. At one point in his career the Nova Force ‘noticed’ and streamlined things for him—taking it up to eleven in the process. It’s very strong and completely unconscious and he can’t turn it off. This is not unique to Saal and tends to happen to corpsmen with more forceful personalities.
> 
> The field promotion Korel mentions is a way for a corpsman to immediately gain access to more of the Nova Force when the chain of command is ruptured—as opposed to a scheduled promotion which allows several days for one to get used to the increase in Nova Force. Because field promotions don’t have an adjustment period, they tend to be physically painful. Once a crisis is over, the promotion can be confirmed or revoked. Nova Corps discourages officers from giving field promotions except when absolutely necessary.


	19. Author's Note

**Hiya!**

**This update contains no story-content. I hate doing this as I consider it bad form, but I wanted to let ya'll know this story is not abandoned. My life spun out of control due to depression/stuff in November, but I am getting back on the horse now. Please don't give up on me [or Saal]! A real chapter is nearly done.**

**Also, to avoid consistency hell, this _is_ chapter 19.**

**Thanks,**

**generalzero**


	20. If We Shoot Them First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gamora and Garthan do not kill each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Okay folks, I’m back. This is largely due to my re-reading of the reviews this story has gotten, which motivated me to continue writing. Thanks for reminding me how great this story is. It was a long hiatus, so for god’s sake let me know if the characters slip OOC from how they were before. If you’re rusty on the story, you might want to skim the last two chapters (or the whole thing!).
> 
> Warnings: none

When you can’t avoid a fight, hit first and hit hard and don’t miss. It was rather ironic, Garthan thought, how many elaborate strategies and complicated operations ended up boiling down to that one point. Gamora had the right idea. Kavada’s soldiers expected to call the shots; instead he and Gamora would. 

“What’s the plan, then?” he asked Gamora.

“We’ll give these fools enough of a fight to convince them we’re holding this corner. Then we’ll go the other way and break through the group waiting there by surprise.”

Garthan’s mind jumped automatically to possible obstacles: “What if they have more fighters than this end?”

“Does it matter when the odds are already ten to one?”

Not really. Garthan did not fail to notice that their strategy had been moving further and further from “escape the enemy” and closer and closer to “take them down with you.” It actually wasn’t a particularly novel situation for Garthan, even if he didn’t count the Battle for Xandar. This time would be the first time he didn’t have Nova Corps behind him, though.

Garthan was accustomed to preparing for the worst, so as calmly as he might mine his own escape route to keep enemy ships from getting away, he removed his new, discrete case of emergency medication—only one dose of each suppressant and the anti-rejection shot—from a pocket, flipped it open and hurled it against the wall. The syringes shattered. Garthan mentally set his countdown: a little over 30 hours until the anti-rejection ran out and he was dead. Painfully and this time permanently. 

Gamora gave him a questioning look.

“If we’re caught I’d rather not give Kavada anymore ammunition. Let her think up her own tortures.” As if they could be any worse than anything Garthan had already been through.

Gamora nodded sharply and then started down the corridor without a word. They had to move quickly to pull this off. As they passed the alcove with the flexgrav tube, she asked: “How’s Peter?”

Garthan hadn’t gotten any alarming feelings concerning Quill. It could be that Quill was fine, or it could be that Garthan’s spatial empathy moments ago was fluke. Garthan didn’t actually know what he was doing in this situation, after all. The amount of Nova Force it would take to link mentally with a civilian was immense—impossible really, for anyone other than Nova Prime. Reminding himself to focus, Garthan shrugged. “Fine as far as I know.” 

“What else can you do that’s useful?”

Garthan could see where this was going, and he was not happy about it. He shook his head. “I can’t use anymore Nova Force. It’s too dangerous.” That was the problem with keeping the Nova Force so mysterious: everyone thought you could do miracles with it. Being overestimated by your enemies was very useful—by your allies, less so. “I’m already doing everything I can. Any more could kill me.”

“So could a biolaser,” Gamora pointed out.

That was unfortunately true. It was also true that death by biolaser would be preferable to suffering another implant failure. Not that Garthan was looking forward to either. There had to be another way out of this…

Gamora suddenly stopped walking, stopping in front of Garthan to force him to halt as well. Her eyes were steely and furious. “No, do not ignore me. You don’t have the right to hold back on us. Not when you’ve been asking _us_ to trust _you_.” She didn’t stop. Indignation poured vehemently out of Gamora like she was an over-pressured fountain. “If you hadn’t noticed, the others do trust you. Peter let you onto our ship, into our crew, and you—you still haven’t told us single thing. Do you want know when I’ll trust you, Saal? When you stop hiding behind that uniform.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Garthan said sharply. He could care less what Gamora thought about _him_ , but the Nova Corps deserved respect, especially from an ex-criminal.

“It means _you_ refuse to trust _us_. You think don’t have to, because you’re a high and mighty denarian and you have the whole of Nova Corps at your back”—her tone shifted, took on a challenging bent—“or you act like you do.”

Garthan knew she was searching to hit a nerve, but he couldn’t stop himself from bristling when she did. “Of course I do. I’m a corpsman.” Even as he said, Garthan felt his own uncertainty bite at him. Who did he have to depend on anymore, really? Certainly not Nova Prime.

“Really?” Gamora growled, echoing his thoughts almost as if she had read them. “Well, we only have each other, you bastard. If one of the others gets hurt because you’re too much of a fucking Nova Corpsman to trust us, I will make sure you wish you’d never survived the battle with Ronan.”

Garthan remained silent, largely because it looked like one wrong word would be enough to make Gamora carry out her threat immediately. He suddenly realized he was very tired of being angry with her—of being angry at all, even. Things were so much simpler when he knew where stood with Nova Corps and where his place was in the universe. Garthan was tired of arguing with and avoiding Gamora, but he had no idea how to get around the wall between them. If only Quill had filled in the others—Gamora, at least—on their talk last night, then maybe… Garthan wondered if it was his own bad luck or the others’ that right now, when Quill’s lack of a filter would have been useful, he had instead apparently developed some tact. Garthan just didn’t have time to make Gamora understand—they were less than fifty feet away from another confrontation with Kavada’s guards. Even Gamora’s anger had not distracted her from throwing wary glances at each end of the corridor.

Sighing lightly, he asked: “What do you want me to do?”

“Use the Nova Force to help get us out of this mess.”

That was one thing, unfortunately, that Garthan couldn’t do. He was on edge as things were—anxious about what would happen if he tried to use more of the Nova Force, but at the same time unwilling to stop using it. They needed it to get out of this mess, for one thing. Still, Garthan didn’t say anything.

“I’m not asking for a miracle,” Gamora said, considerably more composed though still visibly angry. “I know how it goes. No one ever sees a corpsman use the Nova Force because it’s all small things people don’t notice unless they’re looking for it, just like you said. And the rest of it is only the urban legends and the Corps’ reputation. But it can’t all be bullshit.”

That was …not wrong. It occurred to Garthan that Gamora was pressing exactly the right buttons to make him reconsider things, and given her history in espionage, it probably purposeful. It didn’t mean she wasn’t right, though…

To use call on the Nova Force, or not? The escapade with Yondu had been reassuring, but it had been quite a basic trick, and such a small amount of the Nova Force. This would require Garthan to handle a sizable amount: combat was trickier than piloting. The last time Garthan had made a decision like this had been just after the blockade fell during the battle—and he’d lost everything. 

* * *

_“Denarian, I am already stretched thin with the evacuation and the—”_

_“Listen, Korel. If the Dark Aster touches the planet it the evacuation won’t do any good. With Rakkis and Duranne gone there’s not enough Nova Force to hold the blockade. You’re a centurion.”_

_“Yes, and I’m the only centurion on the bloody planet! I can’t do everything at once, Saal. You’re going to have to rely on those outlaws of yours.”_

_“That’s not going to be enough…”_

* * *

—but he hadn’t really lost, though. He’d held the blockade and bought Quill and his gang ninety seconds and Xandar still lived. If time turned back Garthan knew he’d make the same choice all over again: trust the Nova Force, and the values of the Nova Corps behind it—and to hell with the consequences.

It was Gamora’s turn to be slightly discomfited by Garthan’s battle ready expression. “Very well, Gamora. Let’s go out with a bang.”

For a second, she was suspicious still. Then she gave him a smile—not the kind shared with friends, but the kind exchanged between people who know they will fight well together. The suspicion was still there; Garthan knew she was a long way from really trusting him, but if they survived they could cross that bridge later.

“So what can you do that’s useful?” Gamora asked again.

Garthan mentally recalled a number of things he’d done before in tight spot like this. There had been plenty of them. “We’ll be marginally harder to hit and some of their weapons will inexplicably malfunction. I may be able to kill the lights. I can’t tell you exactly what will happen because it’s largely just me asking and the Nova Force answering. Its solutions tend be rather creative.”

“Good. Follow me and we’ll see if we can’t fight our way past and head for the entrance.”

Now that they had begun on a clear course of action, time seemed to speed up. Battles were like that: Garthan spent most of his own time in combat reacting and defending himself automatically, while his real attention focused on each of his team members. This time there only Gamora to keep track of, but he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. 

His prediction confirmed itself when twenty or so of Kavada’s guards turned the corner before the two of them could reach the intersection. “Drop your weapons and surrender!” barked one at the vanguard of the group.

Gamora and Garthan did not even stop moving; they both lifted their guns and shot at the crowd.  
One eye on Gamora, Garthan’s attention darted along the ceiling as he imagined the light panels winking out, feeling the same itchy exhilaration he had felt when he called on the Nova Force in the asteroid belt. Darkness was just what they needed—but it wasn’t what they got. Instead, the pressure-sprinklers went off at the end of the hallway. Kavada’s warehouse had excellent ones, apparently—within seconds her warriors were soaked. 

Gamora slowed next to Garthan. “Water?” she asked dryly.

Garthan had no answer for her. There had to be an advantage here or it wouldn’t have happened… but he couldn’t see it. They needed to move. Already their attackers were recovering from their surprise and taking aim with their energy weapons again.

 _Oh._ Energy weapons. _Excellent._ Garthan felt a smirk creep onto his face. He winked at Gamora, and fired his own energy gun into the wet floor at the center of the squad of Kree soldiers. Rather than burning a hole there, the electrical energy skittered across puddles and into several of the dripping soldiers. They dropped almost instantly, writhing. Two of the unaffected soldiers didn’t catch on and electrocuted themselves by firing their own guns. The group was essentially disarmed—for the moment. 

“Let’s go. Don’t fire, just run.”

Gamora darted and weaved through the disorganized group like a sleek racing pod, jabbing a throat or a gut here and there to create a path. Garthan sprinted after her with considerably less grace. No one shot at them, but their attackers switched easily to physical blows and attempts to overpower them. Only once did Gamora falter—she slipped on the wet floor—but whether it was skill or the Nova Force or actual luck, she righted herself.

Then it was Garthan’s turn to lose his footing, and he wasn’t so fortunate. One of the soldiers snagged Garthan’s arm as he flailed and yanked him further off balance. Garthan barely caught sight of the Kree’s sidearm—which was _not_ energy-based—before it was coming to bear on his face. He grabbed at it, forcing it away, but the action tangled him up hopelessly with in the Kree’s grip. Garthan struggled to extricate himself without losing his grasp of the gun. Damn these prosthetics—he was still no good at hand-to-hand!

His lost fights with Drax jumped to mind: _“Remember, you are heavier than you appear, Denarian. Don’t waste it.”_ Garthan blinked, abruptly stopped struggling and let himself go limp. The surprise weight as Garthan’s knees crumpled downward thrust his attacker off-balance and they both toppled to the ground, giving Garthan the opportunity to jab his left arm into the man’s windpipe. It was trick that would never have worked without his prosthetics.

The other Kree were closing in. Garthan snatched the his enemy’s sidearm and fired three shots before scrambling to his feet and dashing around the right-angle turn of the corridor after Gamora.

She was completely fine.

“I don’t know if that was ridiculous or brilliant.”

Garthan shrugged. “Quill’s rubbing off on me.”

There was a real grin there, for just a second, Garthan was sure, but an instant later Gamora was back to business, leading the way toward the warehouse’s main entrance. The soldiers heckled them all the way, and several times they had such close calls that it was only the Nova Force that turned a lethal shot into a near miss—and there were shots that didn’t miss, too. Gamora got grazed by another biolaser and took a hit from an energy weapon that fritzed the cybernetic body-mods in her shoulder, though Garthan only knew about the second one because he could feel her worrying about it. Garthan got splattered with shrapnel when a energy blast punched into a wall near his head; blood welled from several gashes in the side of his face and his right arm, which he’d thrown up to guard it. The proximity of the noise set his ears to ringing lightly.

Gamora had glanced at him, surprised.

“What? I do bleed, you know.”

They didn’t bother trying to kill Kavada’s security cameras; it would take too long. Unfortunately, that meant by the time they neared the airlock, the way was completely blocked by a crowd of Kree soldiers, shoulder to shoulder, weapons ready and waiting for them.

“There’s too many, and they know our location,” Gamora said.

“Their tactics are terrible,” Garthan told Gamora. “See how closely they’re grouped? And they don’t move around, or send out scouts, or watch the side corridors. They’re sitting ducks for an ambush.”

“Did you want to lodge a complaint with their superior officer?” Gamora asked.

Garthan rolled his eyes. “I just wish there were more than two of us, or that we had better weapons.”

She nodded. “Where’s Rocket when you need a bomb?” She was smirking, but there was a grim edge to it and a tightness in her tone. Terrible tactics or not, they really were running out of options this time.

Suddenly alarms blared around them.

Gamora glanced out of their small bit of cover, an alcove near the lobby where the soldiers waited. “They’re surprised, too,” she said. “Do you think the warehouse is under attack? The others—”

Garthan shook his head. “They’re not close enough.” Quill, however, felt closer than he had been since leaving them, Garthan noticed. The thought led to a realization of what the alarm was for. “The flexgrav network. Quill must have shut it down. There will be air in the tubes now. The whole building will come down soon.”

Gamora was already moving. “Not before we get out.”

This time Garthan led the way, since trying to pinpoint Quill’s location via spatial empathy was arguably easier than searching randomly for another access port. Garthan had not expected Quill to shut it down fast enough, not without a familiarity with the technology. Another point for the outlaw. Garthan needed to stop underestimating him.

At last they turned down they right corridor; there was just one long sprint to reach the flexgrav access port, where Quill would—with luck—be emerging any moment. Garthan and Gamora tore down the corridor, all too aware that they had to reach the access port before the pursuing soldiers turned the corner if they didn’t want to be followed into the flexgrav tube. Halfway down the hall the corridor was split by another, although Garthan didn’t see it coming until the soldiers coming down it fired a hail of energy shots at him. Several came close enough for him to feel their heat crackling through the air, but he cleared the intersection unscathed. 

Gamora didn’t.

Garthan knew almost as soon the energy shot hit her—a chance hit to her biolaser burn that sent her sprawling to the ground in pain—and slid to a stop. Gamora was still in the line of fire, and Garthan turned back to get her instinctively. Somewhere in his brain he had labeled her as “crew”—as _his_ responsibility—and so it was impossible for him to do anything else. After thirty years in Nova Corps, turning back, dashing between Gamora and the soldiers, and grasping desperately at the Nova Force for a solution came as naturally as piloting did.

A yellow sheet of energy burst into life between Garthan and Kavada’s soldiers. It stretched from floor to ceiling and across the width of the corridor and it crackled menacingly as the soldiers’ energy shots rebounded harmlessly off of it.

* * *

_“All Nova pilots, interlock and form a blockade. The Dark Aster must not reach the ground.”_

_“This is Rakkis. My battalion is locked in.”_

_“Duranne here. Locked in.”_

_“Nova Prime, the blockade is in position. We’ll hold it as long as it takes. Saal, out.”_

* * *

“Impossible,” Garthan breathed. It was a star-fighter shield, which by nature required at least four Corpsmen in four star-fighters to create. There was no way in the universe than Garthan could be generating it alone—except that he was. His heart was hammering at the sheer amount of Nova Force he was channeling and the feeling it spawned was like champagne bubbles in his brain. Garthan paused, unable to tear himself away from the strangeness of it.

“Saal!”

Gamora’s voice jolted Garthan back to focus. He wrenched his gaze away from the shield, fairly confident that the shield would hold without his direct attention, and offered her a hand. Static flashed at the ends of Gamora’s hair and fingertips as she reached to take it. A spark of static jumped between them, shocking Garthan lightly.

The shield zapped out of existence. In the next second a high-level energy shot hit Garthan squarely in the chest and he staggered, nearly falling. Gamora managed to get to her feet next to him, but neither of them couldn’t run. Nor would they get far with a dozen weapons trained on them at point blank range. Garthan tried for another shield, but instinct told him it wouldn’t come. He didn’t know how he’d done it in the first place. They were well and truly caught this time.

“Gamora! Saal!” It was Quill, half hanging out of the flexgrav access port just as expected and likely unable to see their captors from his angle. He was too far away and too late to do anything for them. Garthan suspected that that wouldn’t stop Quill from trying. A brief brush of eye contact with Gamora communicated all it needed to: No use in Quill being captured, too. Garthan reached out for the Nova Force one more time, and Quill slipped slightly, losing his balance and swaying backwards into the flexgrav tube. The access door slammed shut of its own accord, blocking his way out. Hopefully, Quill would have the sense to retreat before the tube system became dangerously unstable.

Now that they were checkmated, the exertion of their failed escape and the injuries Garthan had collected began taking their toll. He could hear through still-ringing ears his own too-rapid heartbeat, Gamora’s carefully steady breaths beside him and the internal electric whine of the guards’ energy weapons. No doubt the rest of his senses would soon catch up and start giving him hell. It was almost a relief when a guard put a stunner to Garthan’s chest and pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So a lot of important stuff happened here… lots of questions to answer… What will happen to Saal and Gamora? Where are Rocket and the others? What will Peter do? Wtf is going on with the Nova Force?
> 
> Are you surprised that Saal and Gamora didn’t kill each other? I was. Prepare for more grudging bonding-time next chapter.
> 
> How are you, my lovely readers? Would you like a lovely playlist to go with this story? You can see the ones I write to here: 8tracks.com master-of-commas collections the-only-sane-man [throw it in the search bar, first few links are mine]
> 
> Random thought: while Serafinowicz was great as Saal in the film, if I were to cast a silver screen actor for him, it would be Humphrey Bogart. Bogey is literally the archetype of the grouchy jerk with a heart of gold, although scifi might not be his forte.
> 
> So, a thing I’ve been thinking about. The word corpsman is rather gendered, but I’ve been using it with gender-neutral intentions. Would replacing it with a better term be desirable to you all? Any ideas for a replacement? [corps-person???]


	21. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How hard can it be to press a damn button?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: POV change here.
> 
> Warnings: none

“I am Groot.”

“I know.” Rocket was fixing the leak in the fusion core seal, which was damn delicate work on any ship but especially on a finicky new one like the Admantine. He didn’t have time to talk to Groot. It was perfectly obvious that they were stuck. Rocket carefully took apart the magnetic mechanism he needed to repair the seal.

Groot and Drax both watched him anxiously. “I am Groot.”

“I know that too.”

Rocket adjusted the mechanism and then started putting it back together. He was slowly losing his patience. This was his fourth time putting it back together. It kept sliding out of sync just as he tried to reattach it to the fusion core shielding. Like Groot said, they didn’t have time for this shit. Kavada was getting further and further away, and they were still stuck on the planet.

He was losing his patience with Saal, too. How hard was it to press a damn button? Unless Saal wasn’t around any longer to do it…

“I am—”

“I know!” The magnet jerked out of sync.

With a growl, Rocket started taking the thing apart again. This is what they got for sending the idiot, the bleeding-heart and the martyr the out together without supervision. The three of them were a time-bomb. And now they were captured. Possibly worse.

“I think our tree has raised a serious point,” said Drax. “We are cannot remain hidden here indefinitely if we wish to rescue our friends from Kavada’s foul clutches.”

Rocket gave up on his work and glared at Groot and Drax. “Great observation, ya giant idiots. Why didn’t ya say so earlier? We could’ve taken off hours ago.”

“No, we could not. You have been fixing the ship’s fusion core.”

Rocket groaned and flopped backwards onto the floor of the engine chamber in disgust. Wasn’t there a rule Gamora had made about him and Drax being alone together? Gamora liked rules. She had a lot of them, and Rocket hated to admit it, but he kinda wished she were here yelling at him for breaking one again instead of… wherever she was. Which, at this point, could be basically anywhere in the star system.

“What,” Rocket gritted out, “do you suggest we do? We can’t take off. I don’t have the fragging tools to fix this leak.”

Groot reached out and picked Rocket up, which Rocket detested but allowed since ze was so happy to be big enough to do it again, and carried him through the Admantine to the cockpit, releasing Rocket into the co-pilot’s chair. “I am Groot.”

Rocket crossed his arms. “Ask for help?”

“Yes. That’s a grand idea. The Kree rebels in this system will be glad to help destroy one of Onchi’s minions.” Drax affirmed. Rocket glanced sharply between him and Groot, wondering a bit possessively when Drax had gotten so good at reading zir. Groot tapped the console to bring up local radio channels and motioned for Rocket to start scrolling through them. Drax gave Rocket an encouraging smile. “You are a criminal. You excel in finding encrypted radio channels. It should be simple for you.”

Someday, Rocket thought, he might have to push Drax out an airlock for the sake of his own sanity. For now, Rocket sighed and attacked the control panel with several complicated search commands. He’d start by filtering for proximity, then frequency, then cross reference the messages against several popular black-market encryption protocols—

The initial local search completed more rapidly then he expected; Rocket was still fine tuning the specs for a the wider net he’d assumed he’d need to use when two results came up: one weak and just on the edge of the proximity parameter, and the other incredibly close and double-encrypted. The second one also had a location shuffler to disguise it’s transmission source, which was necessary because its first encryption level was noisily drawing attention to itself with a looped transmission containing only a set of private-vehicle tags. The tags were instantly familiar to Rocket because they belonged to the Milano. The Milano was back on Xandar—so it was a signal, meant just for them. Rocket immediately ran the second level through the gang’s personal decryption algorithm; it was a perfect match. Minutes later Quill greeted them anxiously over the radio.

“Are you guys alright?”

Rocket grinned. “Yeah. Don’t tell Saal, but we wrecked his baby. Where are you? What the hell happened?”

“It was set up. Onchi wants to use Saal to use to the Nova Force to do villain stuff. Kavada’s got him and Gamora.”

The grin disappeared. “You’re not together?”

Quill paused before answering. “No, we split up. Weird shit was happening with Saal. I shouldn’t have left them alone. Now I don’t know where they are.”

Kavada’s ship, most likely. “They’re off-planet. We picked up a pimped-out yacht with diplomatic tags taking off six hours ago and couldn’t do a damn thing about it. I need a replacement part for the fusion core seal or the Admantine will blow up trying to break atmosphere.”

A much longer pause. Rocket guessed it meant Quill was either banging his head on a wall (humies were so weird) or else had a plan. Finally, Quill said: “If I can get it, can you track them down?”

“Sure, but not quickly. Not unless Saal turns on the damn panic button I gave him. What’s the plan?”

“Why are you assuming I have a plan?”

“Because ya always have at least one stupid plan.”

“That is true,” Drax chimed in, “but do not take offense, friend. Their stupidity is what makes them effective. Our enemies usually expect something more complex.”

“It’s not a stupid plan,” Quill said flatly.

“So ya _do_ have a plan,” Rocket said, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

“I go back to the base, steal the part we need off one of the scout ships, and then we go after Kavada.”

“And how will ya do that without dying?”

“Er…”

Rocket groaned. “It’s not going to work. It’s a stupid plan.”

“I am Groot.”

“What?” Rocket turned to look quizzically at Groot.

“I am Groot” ze said, pointing at the second radio signal from Rocket’s search. Rocket mulled the suggestion over. It wasn’t a bad idea.

“What? What’s going on?” Quill asked.

“ _Groot_ has a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So, who’s the idiot, who’s the bleeding heart, and who’s the martyr?
> 
> Also, let me know how the POV change feels. Refreshing? Distracting? Would you rather someone else’s POV? I need to know for something coming up later… *rubs hands together evilly*
> 
> They’ve started filming GotG 2. I’m excited, but also a little sad bc the chances of Saal appearing are close to zero.


	22. Prisoners' Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kavada offers Saal and Gamora a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Back to Saal’s POV
> 
> Warnings: explicit but non-graphic description of torture [this would barely pass PG13], ableism and associated slurs

Garthan was wrenched into consciousness by a sharp pain that hurtled up his spine and disappeared before he could identify where it came from. It was a moment before he realized he should be distressed by this: his thoughts rolled along sluggishly. Trapped in the hospital once more, probably. Damn Chandra and his drugs. He should probably buzz the nurse about that spike of pain.

No, wait. That was wrong. Garthan impatiently shook the grogginess out of his head, shuffling memories back and forth until they lined up in proper formation.

Kidnapped. Almost died. Stole the Admantine. Almost died again. The Asteroid belt. The Nova Force. Kidnapped again. … _Fuck_.

“Gamora?” he called at once. His voice sounded and raspy in the silence.

Now awake and alert, Garthan immediately catalogued his surroundings. He was bound upright in a chair in a plain small room. The smooth hard chair was uncomfortable and no doubt meant to be so. Thick unyielding metal bands kept Garthan from moving more than an inch in any direction and in several places crushed as tightly as a vise against his skin. His arms and wrists chafed painfully, locked down at his sides and slightly behind him. Garthan’s jacket and overshirt had been removed, which except for the unpleasant coldness of the metal was actually a blessing, because too-familiar tremors of sensitivity were skittering over his skin and he had a feeling cloth would have aggravated it.

The particular curved shape of the room told him he was in the kind of small, fast ship usually designed around its fusion core. They were easily defendable, ideal for transporting diplomatic passengers or high-risk prisoners. A featureless door on his right stared blankly at him; no visible control panel or handle meant it likely only opened from outside.

Garthan was unable to inspect anything behind him because of the chair’s restraints, but he was certain it was Gamora. He could feel her long hair brushing against his bare arms—and the sharp prickle of his skin in reaction was only one of a host of signals alerting Garthan that his suppressants had worn off almost completely. He wondered briefly if it was because much time had passed or because his use of the Nova Force had indeed affected them adversely, but that line of thought was both useless and alarming so he abandoned it  in favor of returning to his rather limited exploration of the room. Twisting against the metal clamps and stretching his fingers brought their tips in contact with Gamora’s hands. She jerked away, surprising him.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Are you alright?” Garthan realized as he asked that he didn’t know; his spatial empathy was gone, and so was his connection to the Nova Force. Possibly it was the drugs. Garthan hoped it was just the drugs.

“Don’t say anything.”

Garthan stayed silent. It was possible she had a plan and he didn’t want to jeopardize that. After a moment, he heard her sigh rather shortly. Then, in a sing-song voice, she said: “ _I was tired of my lady, we_ _’d been together too long._ ”

Garthan was momentarily confused. Then he realized it was a lyric to that one song of Quill’s, the pinyacalada one. “Ah… what is going on?”

Her only answer was the next line: “ _Like a worn out recording of a favorite song._ ”

“Gamora?”

“I don’t know who you are and I can’t talk to you until you finish the verse.”

Garthan had no idea what was going on, but he went along with it. Quill played the stars damned song so much there was no way Garthan couldn’t have known it by heart, although he had to run through the first lines again to recall the next two. To his chagrin, he also couldn’t help but sing-song back when reciting them: “ _So while she lay there sleeping, I read the paper in bed, and in the personal columns there was this letter I read._ ”

Before Gamora could reply, or with Garthan’s luck continue singing, another shock of pain seized him, like ice or acid running through his veins. Its force dissolved every thought in his head, leaving him breathless and unfocused when it ended several seconds—fucking long seconds—later. A bitten-off gasp from Gamora informed Garthan that they had shared the experience. A instant later the door of the holding cell opened.

In strode Kavada, tall and proud and rigid, attended by two vicious looking soldiers like a planet orbited by a pair of moons. She waved a hand and the door slid closed behind her. Garthan wondered if he had ever seen anyone else look as smugly superior as she did now, sneering at the two of them. He decided Korel might be able to give Kavada a run for her money, and then rolled his eyes when he realized he’d finally found a situation in which he preferred Korel’s company. Unfortunately, Kavada noted the action: her expression told Garthan that vengeance would be swift.

“You both listen carefully. I am not going to interrogate you or make empty threats. In fact I’m not interested in any of your petty secrets and lies. Or anything else you have to say. I will only state facts and consequences.” Kavada’s clipped voice pinched at Garthan’s ears. She paused, as if daring them to protest.

To be or not to be sarcastic, Garthan mused. He really ought to stay silent like Gamora, like a good spy… but Garthan temper was already frayed and he preferred to get off on the wrong foot right away. So he dropped his tone down to a drawl and sneered right back at her: “That’s too bad. Here I was ready to give you all of Xandar’s satellite codes.”

Kavada’s smirk deepened. Here came the vengeance she’d promised. “Fact one: As a Xandarian you are unredeemable scum, as is anyone who allies themselves with you. Consequence: When you speak out of turn, _this_ happens.”

Kavada stretched out a hand towards one of her guards and a security pad was placed there. She took her time activating the device, and Garthan realized sourly that Kavada was not an enterprising kind of terrorist who could be swayed by shifting profits, but the sadistic kind—a true fanatic, like Ronan.

Even with a full minute’s warning, the electrical shock that ripped through him—from the chairs, probably via the metal bindings—was just as painful and dizzying as the first time. Kavada’s face blurred briefly but her smug grin beamed clearly at him until she released the charge.

…aaaannnd that was why Garthan had been kicked out of Nova Corps’ intelligence division. Time to shut up. Their fanatic Kree captor would play whatever games she wanted to play and eventually get bored. Hopefully. Reacting to her would buy them nothing but more pain, and it wasn’t fair to make Gamora pay for his sarcasm.

“Fact two: We are on our way to meet Lord Onchi, who will make use of you as he sees fit. You are welcome to swear allegiance to him or refrain from doing so, but make no mistake: you will aid us in our extermination of Nova Corps. Doing so willingly will save us trouble and save you needless pain.”

_“Who in their right mind would clear you for intelligence work?”_

_“I could ask you the same thing. Do try to remember you’re talking to a superior officer, Korel.”_

_“Oh fuck off, Millenian Salt Pillar Sir. Is that polite enough for you?”_

Garthan didn’t realize that he’d been wincing at Kavada’s voice until she suddenly stopped speaking and gave him a calculating look. Then she stepped close to him and snapped her fingers right next to his ear. Garthan couldn’t resist jerking his head away from her or stop the soft hiss that escaped him at the assault on his ears.

“How pathetic.” Kavada regarded him coldly.

“Fact three: You already know Novans don’t switch sides,” Garthan said. He kept his tone even and empty of sarcasm. Kavada could say whatever she wanted about him. He was sure he’d heard it all before. Just keep quiet, he told himself, and you won’t risk saying something you’ll regret.

“Everyone”—Kavada reached out a hand and danced a fingertip leisurely over his face—“has”—rubbed her thumb over the bridge of his nose—“a breaking point.”—and laughed when Garthan shivered.

Krees actually had softer skin than Xandarians did, but at the moment Garthan could not have told the difference between Kavada’s skin and hot sandpaper. He tensed, desperately wishing she would stop. Instead she kept teasing and taunting him. “I understand that denarians are high-ranking officers. It’s no wonder that Nova Corps remains so weak and timid if _you_ are an example of their best and brightest. All the power of the Nova Force at your fingertips and you fools waste it sheltering fugitives.”

Garthan’s self-imposed silence cracked. “Power isn’t the point. Nova Corps _protects_ and _preserves_ , which means it will _always_ prevail over cults of corrupt dictators who can’t understand that. Didn’t you terrorists learn from Ronan’s fate?”

“Ronan was a prophet, a god among the Kree!” Kavada snarled.

“Ronan is dead,” Garthan spat. “He was mortal, he bled like everyone else and he was a fucking genocidal maniac.”

Kavada slapped him. When she spoke, her voice was dangerously low. “And how do you bleed? Not like everyone else, as I hear.”

Oh, this was not good. Garthan’s thoughts jumped to the security scan at Kavada’s base. Evidently Kavada had made a point of inspecting it further. What was she planning?

With a swift graceful motion Kavada straddled his legs and settled her weight on his knees. Even sitting she was still taller than he was. She produced a knife from somewhere—Garthan didn’t catch where. It was small but visibly sharp as she brandished it in front of his face. Garthan didn’t flinch, not even when she started dancing the tip along the bare skin of his right shoulder. Not even when she danced it along his collarbone over to his left shoulder.

“If I slit your throat, would I run up against circuits?”

Kavada kept her touch firm enough to leave marks but not to draw blood. It was making Garthan’s skin crawl, but Kavada was enjoying herself too much and he didn’t want to give her even more satisfaction. He didn’t flinch—

“What about here?”

—not even when she slashed heavily downward along his left arm and the artificial nerves there sent screeching pain signals to his brain. There was no blood, not in his left arm. Garthan didn’t think she’d cut deep enough to interfere with anything crucial.  She was just toying with him.

So why was his heart beating so fast?

“One has to wonder if there’s a point at which cybernetic reconstruction results in a thing more machine than man.”

Garthan clenched his fists and remained silent. She could say whatever she wanted. It wasn’t true. If only her voice wasn’t so loud and sharp. If only his legs weren’t starting to groan at her weight. If only she’d stop pricking here and there with her stars-damned knife. His arms, his chest, his jaw—some places drew out red blossoms of blood, but not many.

_“My left arm and shoulder. The bones in my right hand and lower arm. Six ribs on my left side, two on my right. My collarbone. Forty percent of my spine. My lower jaw. My left ear, part of my right. My entire left leg, and most of the bones in the right one. Complete DNA reconstruction on a handful of internal organs and partial reconstruction to repair the rest and regrow most of my skin.”_

Kavada gave him a lazy zigzagged cut across his cheekbone. Blood welled out and dripped down his cheek and neck. “I think they crossed the line with you.”

Suddenly Gamora’s voice cut through Kavada’s musings. “Saal. It’s not true.”

Garthan had almost forgotten Gamora was there. She’d been so silent, but apparently she’d been listening also.

“Listen,” Gamora continued. “It’s not what’s under your skin that matters. Your actions since we’ve met have shown more humanity than this bitch has the capacity to even comprehend. Don’t let her convince you otherwise.”

Garthan’s heartbeat slowed down. This could have been attributed either to Gamora’s declaration or the fact that it inspired Kavada to cease torturing him and fix her attention on Gamora. She got up and moved out of Garthan’s sight.

“Gamora, daughter of Thanos.”—Gamora hissed, and Garthan hoped it was in anger rather than pain.—“Betrayer of Ronan. Guardian of the Galaxy. I have to admit I did not realize what illustrious company I was back on Sertili Seven.  I would have made a greater effort to capture the rest of you alive. Lord Onchi will be still be pleased, though. After all, he’ll have the opportunity to personally kill the last surviving Guardian of the Galaxy.”

That couldn’t be true. Surely Quill had gotten out of the building in time? And the others on the Admantine had been safe… Garthan wished he could still reach out with the Nova Force and feel them all there.

Gamora betrayed no surprise or dismay at Kavada’s claim. “And if I don’t want to die?”

Kavada snorted. “Are you saying to want to make a deal? What could you possibly offer Onchi to offset Ronan’s murder?”

“I’m a weapon, crafted by Thanos himself. I helped to kill Ronan at his most powerful. I’ve toppled dictators, killed monarchs, infiltrated the most secretive organizations in the galaxy. Is Lord Onchi not interested in that kind of skill?”

Garthan did not believe for a moment that Gamora would truly side with Onchi and Kavada. She had, after all, just drawn Kavada’s viciousness down on herself to stop Kavada raining it down on him. It was a favor he wouldn’t forget any time soon; hopefully he would survive to repay it.

“You would betray the Xandarians and Nova Corps that easily?” Kavada’s tone radiated suspicion.

“I’m no one’s lackey. I certainly don’t answer to the Nova Corps,” Gamora said with real venom. “But I would be willing to deal with Lord Onchi.”

There was a pause, and then Kavada spoke: “You would make a valuable ally. You might even be more useful than this bundle of scrap metal from Nova Corps. I don’t actually believe you, mind, but this will be amusing regardless.”

Kavada stepped back near the door, back into Garthan’s line of sight, and gave a signal to her two guards. They approached either side of Garthan and Gamora’s chairs, produced a handful of metallic sounds out of sight and presently Garthan felt a thin band close around his right wrist. Exploring the bracelet with his fingertips revealed a slender switch.

“Fact four: The electrical devices in your chairs are separately wired and controlled. You have each been equipped with the kill switch for the other’s device. Kill switch meaning, in this instance, a switch which will induce a lethal dosage of electricity.”

Garthan let go of the bracelet faster than if it had been a live wire.

“Fact five: We will rendezvous with Lord Onchi in forty-eight hours, at which point he will decide for each of you whether he requires your service or desires your demise. If you truly wish to change your allegiance, prove it before then by using the kill switch.”

Oh lovely. What an ultimatum. Garthan knew they weren’t actually any worse off than before, but he had the feeling that somehow Kavada’s offer would manage to incite a new disaster sooner or later. He couldn’t think through their options right now, though; his head throbbed with a burgeoning sensitivity headache.

Kavada stood sneering at them for a few moments, and then appeared to become suddenly disgusted by the fact that neither of them was dead yet. “You are both weak,” she spat. “To help you decide, I’ll keep those little jolts coming.”

As she spoke, a rush of electricity ripped through the chairs again, leaving pain and disorientation in its wake. When Garthan looked up again, Kavada and her guards were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So the research I did on google for these next few chapters might have put me on the NSA’s watch-list…
> 
> So Kavada’s grossness surprised even me in this chapter, but I’m glad as her creativity and Saal’s special weakness meant I didn’t have to bump my rating by going for the gore. Obviously, the torture here is as Hollywood as it gets. Was it still effective? How do you like Kavada as a bad guy? 
> 
> Gamora jumps to Saal’s defense pretty passionately here, and in case it seems slightly OOC, remember that Gamora has cybernetic body modifications too, and though obviously not on Saal’s level they are likely more extensive than is usual/legal because Thanos had them installed [against her will]. Presumably she’s gotten shit about it from numerous enemies.
> 
> How well are ya’ll following the Korel Fiasco [aka. the subject of the latest line of flashbacks…]?
> 
> The chapter name: the Prisoners' Dilemma is a philosophical thought-problem where two prisoners who can’t talk to each other are separately given the option to betray the other or stay silent. If both remain silent, they are both released early; if both betray each other their sentence remains the same; and if only one betrays the other the betrayer goes free and the other’s sentence is doubled. This is not exactly the situation Saal and Gamora are in but it’s a sticky dilemma anyway. How will they make it out?
> 
> So I have reached a conclusion with regards to my concern about the gendered-ness of “corpsman”. Thanks to Jelsemium for giving me a suitable replacement: from here out, I will be using Novan in place of corpsman. When I repost freshly-betaed versions of previous chapters they will also reflect the change.


	23. Tick Tock, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So what was the pinyacalada thing for?"
> 
> "It's a test. So we can recognize each other, very useful in situations like this."
> 
> "This happens often?"
> 
> "You have no idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Excuses in the endnotes. Please be wary of this chapter: Saal goes through some intense shit. Heed the warnings.
> 
> Warnings: explicit torture, overstimulation, panic attack, graphic description of painful medical problems, ableism

For a long while after Kavada left, Garthan spent time with his eyes shut tight, trying to calm his heart rate down and stop his head from spinning. He took long deep breaths, trying to banish from his mind the sensation of Kavada’s fingertips on his skin. Garthan had always hated being touched, even before waking up from a six month coma and finding himself in a body that didn’t quite fit. Now it was nearly unbearable.

Garthan was shaken, physically and mentally. All of his senses were well and truly over-correcting again; on top of his previous injuries, Garthan could feel a headache creeping up on him. Different sensations vied for his attention: he sound of the venting system and Gamora's breathing, the harsh light of the cell daring him to open his eyes, and chills running up and down his skin as blood dripped and dried on it… Kavada was either incredibly lucky or scarily perceptive to settle on a form of torture that would so precisely prick at his weaknesses. Judging by the insidious comments she'd dropped throughout the interrogation, it was likely to be the latter. She had a temper though, Garthan had noticed, and that could perhaps be used to their advantage in planning an escape.

Escape. That was the important thing right now. Rather than let Kavada’s words continue to nag at him, Garthan mentally shoved them aside and focused on analyzing the situation. Garthan was in reasonably good condition, if he wanted to be optimistic. All the wounds Kavada had given him were superficial—the physical ones, anyway—and those he'd collected back at her base were worse but not fatal. Of course, his sensitivity caused everything hurt four times more than it should… and that was where optimism failed, because Garthan's suppressants should not have worn off so quickly. A stunner could only put someone out for a few hours; and even if Kavada had drugged him and Gamora, it could not have been more than thirty six hours since Garthan's last dose just before leaving the Admantine. He could not be sure of the exact duration but he knew it couldn't be more than thirty six hours because that was when the anti-rejection meds would wear off.

…which would trigger another, fatal, implant rejection.

Garthan blew out a sharp breath. This was definitely worse than the last time he'd had suffered enemy interrogation. That time Garthan had been younger, more confident and if not more stubborn at least less tired. He was getting too old for this. Not to mention too damaged. 

Don't think about it, he told himself firmly. Garthan forced himself to focus. He was living on borrowed time. Fine. Whatever. How was Gamora?

"Gamora? Are you okay?" When she didn't immediately answer, he said: "Please tell me you're not going to start singing again."

Half of a breathless laugh reassured Garthan that she was at least still conscious, but when Gamora spoke, her voice was even and brisk. Back to business as usual, then. "Bruising, the laser burns from before, some fritzing in my shoulder mods. The electrical jolts aren't helping. Nothing serious. Can you tell if Peter and the others are all right?"

Garthan winced. He should have guessed that would be her first question, considering Kavada's earlier boast. He didn't want to believe Kavada either, but he had no way to prove her wrong. His spatial empathy had shut off. There was nothing there, even when Garthan reached tentatively out for the Nova Force. "I don't know. It's a talent I don't have control over; it should really only work with other Novans in the first place. It must have been a fluke earlier." A very worrying fluke, now that Garthan had the time to worry.

"And that shield? A fluke too?"

Garthan shook his head. "Not so much a fluke as actually impossible. Those are meant for starfighters."

"Well impossible or not, it happened."

"I don't know what's going on. Something is going very wrong with the Nova Force if I can use that much of it."

"Could you do it again? Or something else helpful?"

"No. I can't feel the Nova Force at all right now. Believe me, I'm trying." 

Gamora didn't say anything further. She was probably worried for the others, feeling the same nagging concern that tugged at Garthan's own concentration. He played over the others' chances in his mind, trying to imagine how quickly Quill could have fled the base, whether the Admantine was too damaged to make it to safety. Garthan abruptly realized they were both brooding and asked Gamora the first thing that came to mind, as a distraction. "So what was the pinyacalada thing for?"

"It's a test. So we can recognize each other. Peter says he's got the only copies of those songs in the galaxy outside of Terra." Gamora's tone turned momentarily dry: "And we obviously all have them memorized. It's useful in certain situations."

"You find yourselves in these situations often?"

"You have no idea." Gamora's tone spoke of untold exasperation and, Garthan noted, a touch a fondness. "Quill's idea of strategy is to get captured in order to spy on the enemy."

That sounded like Quill. "So this is not your first time being interrogated," Garthan said dryly.

Gamora snorted. "Hardly. Even before, there was Thanos."

Whether Gamora had been tortured by Thanos's enemies or by Thanos himself was unclear. Perhaps both, Garthan thought a touch grimly. The mention of the Mad Titan seemed to deflate their momentary camaraderie; Gamora's sudden silence reminded Garthan of the reason the two of them didn't get along. He took a settling breath. "Gamora, I owe you an apology. What I said about you and Thanos was wrong. I shouldn't have judged you so quickly."

She was silent. She must have decided, unfortunately, to ignore his apology. Garthan didn't really blame her.

After a moment, Gamora began speaking as if he hadn't said anything at all: "Peter and the others will be fine. This is not the worse mess we've been in." Garthan got the feeling she was not reassuring as much as herself. "One time, we all took a mercenary contract out in Sirrhea, transporting a Skrull diplomat. Now that was a real mess."

Garthan could imagine. Skrulls were shapeshifters: anything to do with them usually turned into a mess. 

Gamora continued: "An assassin decided to impersonate Peter, and we almost didn't notice. But the skrull didn't have any of Peter's tells."

"He taps on that music player."

"You noticed?" Gamora sounded surprised. No doubt she'd thought he didn't care enough to do so.

"Of course I did. I may be something of bastard, Gamora, but in Nova Corps you put your crew before everything else. The Nova Force makes you get attached. You all aren't Novans, but I've got almost thirty years of habit and terrible luck, so…" Garthan sighed, and finished with a grumble: "I'm attached to you idiots." Stars help him, but it was true.

"Is that why you were able to track us earlier?" Gamora asked, reminding Garthan that she was probably the sharpest of Quill's gang.

Before Garthan could answer, one of Kavada's shocks ripped through their bindings. It left his head throbbing. "Fuck, that's going to get old real fast. Gamora, you alright?" 

"I'm fine." She paused. Then she asked, a touch stiffly, "And you?"

There were so many ways to answer that question. Garthan would have preferred not to answer at all. That way he didn't have to think about the more honest answers.

"Saal."

He should have known better than to think Gamora would let it go. "…Not exactly. How long do you think we were out?"

"Saal."

"I'm not changing the subject, trust me. Rocket says you've got state of the art mods, so you must have an internal clock. How long?"

"A little over twelve hours. They probably drugged us. I feel fuzzy in any case, but that could be the electrical—" she stopped, and then her tone turned calculating. "Your medications are wearing off, aren't they?"

"Yes. Kavada's countdown doesn't mean anything for me: in forty-eight hours I won't even be alive for Onchi to threaten. I've only got twenty."

"Then we'll have to escape before then, won't we?"

"Sure, it'll be easy." The sarcasm escaped Garthan before he could stop it. He knew it wasn't helpful, but his thoughts kept dragging him back to the number of hours he had left on the anti-rejection. There was a strangled pressure building in his chest that he couldn't get rid of. "After all, we're both immobilized, injured and isolated from the others—and I have no access to the Nova Force. What other advantage could we possibly want?"

"Relax, Saal. We'll figure it out." Gamora sounded uneasy. "We beat the odds with Ronan, didn't we?"

Garthan would have laughed at her, but he was strangely short of breath. "You know, that is not very reassuring, considering what 'beating the odds' looked like for me then."

There was a pause; then Gamora spoke, slowly and with a frown in her voice: "Are you having another panic attack?'

No of course not. Garthan had enough to deal with right now without a panic attack. He was not… he was definitely panicking. He couldn't move, and his hypersensitivity was driving him steadily insane—and on top of it all was the knowledge that much worse was in store. Garthan wasn't afraid, really, of dying: what frightened him was everything that would come before.

"Saal, I need you to focus. Don't panic. Do you hear me?"

"Don't panic?" Garthan said breathlessly. That was hilarious. "Don't panic? Do you have any idea what's going to happen to me? What you saw with Chandra was nothing." Then, Garthan hadn't managed to fuck up the implants, just the prostheses. "Let me give you an idea. In under twenty hours, all my cybernetics will start malfunctioning. Random spikes of sensation, loss of control, spasms—it will be a relief when they finally go off completely. Of course, that will send red flags straight to my brain, which by that time will be too overwhelmed by sensory overload to process the information properly, which means I can't think straight. If I'm lucky, I'll go into shock before the nerve implants start breaking down. If I'm not—" Garthan ran out of breath and out of the courage to keep talking. He had no idea why he was confessing all this to Gamora when he never so much as breathed it out loud before. Nobody else knew how bad the rejections were, except Chandra, and Chandra only because he'd witnessed them. It just all spilled out, like air escaping through a pressure leak into space. Garthan realized he was shaking, and tried to stop, to slow down, to take deep breaths. It didn't work. Now he'd really fucked up, hadn't he?

Just then, Gamora grabbed his hand. The angle was awkward because of their bonds; really she was just holding onto a few of his fingers. To reach at all she must have been more flexible than Garthan thought. The touch was a shock, and not a little uncomfortable since his skin was already sending him enough unnecessary signals, but Garthan didn't jerk away because it was a welcome distraction. The sensation allowed his thoughts to break out of the panicked, vicious circle they'd been trapped in. Her skin was soft but oddly firm, and Garthan wondered if it were due to her race or her no doubt extensive body modifications. One of her fingernails was jagged, torn in the fight earlier probably.

After a while, his breaths came slower and deeper. Gamora remained silent but present through her touch. Gamora touched everyone, Garthan remembered. He'd noticed it like he'd noticed Quill's tells—and the others', in fact—within a few days of meeting her. She was rather effusive with it, actually: scratching Rocket's ears, squeezing Quill's shoulder, poking Drax with playful challenge, offering handshakes to every stranger… Garthan had thought it an odd characteristic to find in someone raised by a heartless Titan.

"You can let go now," he told her. She complied immediately. He was trying to work out how to thank her—for this and for earlier—without sounding maudlin, when she spoke softly.

"How many times?"

She didn't need to elaborate. "Seven," he said shortly. "And I would do anything to keep from going through an eighth."

"Then use the bracelet," Gamora said abruptly. There was something odd—but thankfully not hostile—to her tone that Garthan could not identify.

"What?"

"Kavada's bracelet. You can kill me, play her game, and escape. I'm sure there's a pharmlab back on Sertili Two. After that you can contact the rebels and use them to get home."

Garthan made no move for the deadly bracelet on his wrist. He doubted that Gamora was actually serious. "That plan would work for you too. Better, even."

"Yes, but it didn't even occur to you as a plan, did it?" Then Garthan recognized the oddness in her tone—it reminded him strongly of Quill's grin when he was about to do something stupid.

"No," he said suspiciously. His head ached too much; Gamora was obviously getting much more out of this conversation than he was.

"Saal, I like you better when you're out of uniform." The words had a ring of finality to them, as if Gamora had decided on something. Garthan hoped it wasn't anything Quill-like. "We're going to escape, both of us. Starting right this minute."

This time, the way she said it, Garthan believed her—and he thought he could also believe, for the first time, that Gamora and the others had the stuff to stand against Ronan and a fucking Infinity Stone all alone. He took a deep breath, and managed to recover some of his trademark dryness as he asked, "Do you have a plan, then?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Hiya! I am back sooner than I thought bc of a public drag from a reviewer (Jels, I'm looking at you). Sorry for making yall wait six months for an update. Trust me when I say I will never abandon this story (and in fact the entire thing is already planned from here to the end). I just have a bad case of Real Life… idk how obvious it is but most of Saal's mental issues are being drawn from personal experience and I am nowhere near recovered myself. Anyway in lighter news I am studying abroad in Peru right now, which is fucking awesome.
> 
> Now for our more conventional notes! I know it's unlikely that Peter has the only copies of the awesome mix songs, but since the actual movie has Peter floating in a vacuum WITHOUT EXPLODING, I'm not extremely concerned about the realism of this story.
> 
> Coming soon to a theatre near you: Tune in next chapter for more of the Piña Colada Song and an explanation of why Peter and Gamora have been fighting. Chapter 25 will feature, from Peter's POV, Groot's plan and a good fashioned Guardians of the Galaxy ass-kicking. The big reveal on wtf is up with the Nova Force will arrive in Chapter 26.


	24. Tick Tock, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is a piña colada anyway?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: explicit torture, overstimulation, ableism, blood

"I have twelve percent of a plan."

Garthan blinked. Was she joking? Garthan honestly wasn't sure: he didn't have enough experience with a Gamora who didn't hate his guts to tell. "I'm not sure twelve percent is enough to actually be a plan."

"You'd be surprised."

Garthan heard the electric whine from their chairs half an instant before they were both shocked again. Taking a second to let his heart stop hammering, he growled: "Please tell me your plan involves getting rid of those as soon as possible."

"They're not even coming at regular intervals, are they?"

"Not that I can tell. With our luck she's got the controls with her and is using them as a stress toy. So what exactly do you mean by twelve percent of a plan?"

"I have a knife. Polyplastic, almost invisible, wrapped around my wrist."

"I _knew_ it." So Gamora had snuck something through Kavada's security. Wait— _so had he!_ Garthan could feel its weight in his pocket. He could hardly believe Kavada had missed it. "I still have Rocket's panic button."

"You're kidding."

"No, it's in my pocket." Unfortunately, twisting his hands against their bindings did not allow him to reach anywhere close to it. "…which I cannot reach."

"Don't worry. I can use my knife to bust one of the wrist clamps. Then I should be able to reach. Which pocket?" Gamora's hair brushed quickly along his arms; she must have turned her head towards him.

Was she flexible enough to reach that far? "Left. Are you sure? Kavada will know the second you break the chair. You won't have much time."

"I am a skilled assassin of inter-galactic fame. I think I got it, Saal."

Garthan opened his eyes for the first time in many minutes, interested despite the brightness of the room in seeing Gamora's progress. At the very least he wondered how she'd managed to hide the knife around her wrist. Unfortunately he couldn't turn far enough around. He could, however, hear acutely enough to give him hints: the rustle of her clothing meant she was probably shifting around quite a bit, and he thought he could hear her fingernails scratching against a smooth surface. "How did you smuggle it in?"

"As I said, it's almost completely transparent, thinner than a fingernail and fabricated out of materials that blend well with my epidermic mods. Static force sticks it to my skin; it's flexible enough to wrap around my wrist until I break it right…"—Garthan heard a soft snap—"there. Unfortunately it's not very strong, but the edges are sharpened down to molecular points, so it should be more than a matching for the soldiering on these chairs."

"Impressive."

"I have four of them, but the others are out of reach at the moment. Once I'm free, they'll definitely be coming out to play."

"You think you can get completely out before Kavada notices?"

"I already have"—there was a muted popping sound, and Gamora's voice tightened—"one arm free. I can reach your pocket now."

Garthan looked down in time to see her hand dart into view and then disappear into his pocket, fishing for the transmitter. He shuddered to imagine the angle it must be bent. "Is that arm even still attached to you?"

"Relax." She withdrew her arm, clutching her prize. A moment later she said triumphantly: "We are now broadcasting."

Garthan managed a grin himself. Unfortunately, they didn't have time to celebrate—even if Rocket had thought to stealth the signal, the ship's navigator would pick up the foreign transmission soon. Thinking ahead, he asked: "How are we going to hack the door?"

"I'm hoping she'll be stupid enough to send someone charging in here to stop us. I'll be free in a minute." Even if Gamora weren't free when the door opened, Garthan mused, she'd probably have no problem throwing a knife from where she sat with plenty of accuracy. "In fact, I wouldn't mind if she came charging in herself."

Garthan resisted the urge to tell Gamora to hurry—by the noises he could pick out from the general chaos his implants were supplying him, she was already moving quickly. He just wanted to be out of the stars damned chair and doing something. Inaction during a crisis drove him crazy. He settled for predicting possible obstacles. "And if she doesn't?"

"I haven't gotten that far yet. Remember, Peter is usually the one with all the—"

Another shock came, and this time it didn't stop. It went on for long enough that Garthan's thoughts shattered like a thrown glass and he had to spend an inordinate amount of time tracking down all the pieces.

* * *

_“What do you mean they’re letting Korel keep the promotion?”_

_“Millenian Korel is a very capable intelligence officer.”_

_“They got twenty-one Novans killed.”_

_“Saal, leave it alone. You did good bringing them back. Korel’s not your problem anymore.”_

_“As their closest superior—”_

_“You’re not. We’re transferring you; Millenian Korel is taking your place. Intelligence work requires a certain attitude about compromise that you lack.”_

_“I was under the impression that an officer’s first duty was to their fellow Novans. Sir.”_

_“Let me finish before you start the Salt Pillar routine. We’re promoting you to denarian. You’ll be taking charge of off-planet training and organizing special missions in-between. That means you’ll be working directly under Nova Prime, so try to be less of a bastard.”_

* * *

When reality finally shuddered back into focus, Kavada was standing in front of him, arms crossed, glaring at him with open loathing. She was distressingly free of stab wounds. So were the thugs with her.

"Where's the transmitter?" she demanded.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Where was Gamora? He tried uselessly to turn and see her, then changed tactics and stretched his fingers out to see if he could brush hers again. Garthan relaxed slightly as they made contact and Gamora tapped his palm twice. They were both still alive, and although Plan A had failed, the transmitter was still broadcasting, if Kavada's rage was anything to go by. Garthan wondered when and where Gamora had hidden it.

Kavada waited until Garthan looked back at her, obviously aware of their silent exchange. "Satisfied she's alive? She will not continue that way if you don't answer the question."

"I thought you weren't interested in our petty lies?" he said, throwing Kavada's earlier words in her face.

Garthan saw her glance behind him and nod at what he assumed was a thug beyond his line of sight. He tensed for a blow of some kind but when the sound of a fist striking flesh was not accompanied by any pain Garthan realized that the thug had struck Gamora. He sighed. "So that's how we're going to play, then?"

"Do you think this is a game?" Kavada said dangerously.

Garthan didn't answer, didn't say anything sarcastic, didn't even glare at Kavada. This was _Gamora's_ game—she held the trump card, after all—there was nothing for him to do but stay out of it in hopes of not worsening her odds. Garthan wondered if Gamora had set it up that way. It was a cunning precaution against the protective instinct that even now was nagging at Garthan like a physical itch.

There were a few blows more for Gamora after that but Garthan had a sinking feeling that Kavada was just biding her time until she could unleash something worse. She looked almost bored. Her crocodile grin when the cell door slid open only confirmed Garthan's suspicions. The Kree who entered was a little weedy for a thug and carried a small hard-shell case. Garthan began bracing himself for whatever new torture it held. Kavada waved the technician—that was a nice neutral word, Garthan decided sardonically—towards Gamora and strode over to stand between them at Garthan's left side. She sneered at him. "Since you have apparently been programmed without a sense of self-preservation, I'm going to appeal to your sense of sentimentality."

Garthan could catch, just within his line of sight, the technician opening the case and withdrawing an empty syringe. Garthan also didn't miss the fact that Kavada took care not to block his view. He tamped down on his imagination before it could do too much damage and channeled the energy into a withering glare for Kavada instead.

"Why mine and not hers?" he asked, knowing she was baiting him but too tired of biting his tongue to remain silent. Really it was impressive he'd lasted this long. A record, probably.

He'd doubted the question would inspire Kavada to change her plans and it didn't. She tapped his cheek and he tried not to flinch. "You're the weaker link. Nova Corps breeds more sentimentality than Thanos."

"Is that what the terrorists are calling honor these days?" An drip line followed the syringe and both disappeared out of sight. Gamora was perfectly silent; he had no idea what they were doing to her. If she made any noise at all it would probably to be to tell him to shut his mouth and stop antagonizing Kavada.

"Last chance to tell me where the transmitter is."

"I don't know where it is," he said shortly.

Kavada turned away from Garthan and took something from the technician—the end of the dripline—and held it out for him to see. The inside of thin tube shone red; as Garthan watched a drop of blood pooled at the end and then fell. Kavada met Garthan's gaze and smirked. She obviously intended to bleed Gamora out. Taking a clip from the technician, Kavada pinned the end of the dripline to Garthan's shirt, close to his shoulder. "Why don't you hold this for me."

Garthan clenched his fists as a surge of anger at his helplessness swept through him. He was going to kill Kavada. The minute he was free, he was going to going to make her pay for daring to harm one of his crew. If he'd had even a whisper of access to the Nova Force she'd be dead already.

Something in his expression must have conveyed this, because her smug look wavered for half an instant before she turned and sauntered to the door, following by her thugs and the technician. "That drip stays on until I get word that the transmitter has stopped broadcasting," Kavada said. "I hope you didn't hide it somewhere out of reach."

* * *

_"You son of a bitch."_

_"Did you come all the way out here just to insult me?"_

_"You couldn't stop at filing a report, could you? No, you just couldn't resist trying to destroy my career! Why do you hate me so much?"_

_"I hold nothing against you personally, Millenian, despite your continued disrespect. I simply don't think you should be responsible others when you hold so little regard for their safety. Perhaps if you thought of the Corps as less of a career to profit from..."_

_"Don't you dare! Don't you dare act like you're the only person who's put their whole life into Nova Corps. Word gets around, Salt Pillar. Everybody knows the Nova Corps is the only thing you've got. Did you ever think for an instant that I might be in the same boat? That it's not just a career for me? I have nothing else, and you tried to have me kicked out."_

_"I'm afraid I'm too much of a_ salt pillar _to feel sorry for you, if that's what you're looking for. "_

_"You know, you're right. You don't feel anything. Stay the fuck away from me, Saal."_

* * *

As the door closed once more, leaving Garthan without a target for his wrath, he refused to let go of the feeling. Anger mixed with stubbornness went a long way as a substitute for courage, and it was better than panicking. Garthan was all too aware that the situation had gone completely to hell, especially now Gamora's position was just as precarious as his. Depending on how much blood loss she could handle, she had an even smaller window of time left to benefit from either a rescue or an escape—and escape was looking increasingly less likely.

Garthan hoped Quill and the others were coming.

"Gamora, what's your status?" he asked, slipping momentarily into the formal language he'd use with another Novan. It was easier to keep calm by imagining that this was just another Nova mission fucked beyond all repair. He'd always been good at those.

"I'm fine." Her voice was tight, and for someone as stoic as Gamora that was bad news.

"Do not try to lie to me. I have heard every one in the book," he said sternly.

"Oh lovely. Denarian Saal is back." There was no hostility in her tone, and even the sarcasm was weak. "You were right earlier, about the chairs. I should have disabled the shocking mechanisms first. Kavada is not stupid."

"Yes, she's rather creative, actually. " Garthan glowered at the drip line and the small streak of crimson leaking into his shirt. If he hadn't antagonized Kavada so much, it might not be there. "It's not your fault. You nearly got us out. And the others are coming."

"Can you tell?" Gamora asked hopefully.

"No. But if they're alive, they're coming. And if Ronan didn't manage to kill you all, I doubt Kavada managed it. We just have to wait. Now, you were telling me about your injuries."

Gamora huffed. "I'm a little beat up," she conceded. "It should be nothing, but… I think the electricity is getting to my mods. I don't think they're healing me anymore. Isn't it affecting you too?"

There she went, reflecting the conversation back to him. Garthan sighed, frustrated that the only thing he could do for Gamora was reassure her and she wouldn't even let him have that. "I honestly cannot tell." There were so many injuries shrieking for his attention he couldn't possibly pick one out from the others. The world was steadily narrowing down to include nothing but his throbbing headache, the overpowering smell of Gamora's blood, and an incessant shivering across his skin that felt like a thousand ants marching to war. Struck with an idea, Garthan let some of his weariness leak into his next words: "Everything is… a lot. It would help if you kept talking. It's something to focus on."

It was true but not the whole truth: Garthan wanted to keep Gamora talking so he could tell when she passed out from blood loss. If Quill and the others had not arrived before then, Garthan would have to do… _something_. He'd already reached out multiple times for the Nova Force, and although he had the strangest feeling that it was only just out of reach, it remained just that: out of reach. It was infuriating but not surprising. If Kavada was smart—and she'd already proved that—she would have dosed him with enough drugs to last for a few days. It didn't even matter what they were, really; one of the many rumors about Nova Corps, which was unfortunately both commonly known and actually true, was that Novans couldn't use the Nova Force unless they were free of other mind-altering influences.

"Talk about what?" Gamora asked.

"The Skrull incident, Quill, anything. Sing all those awful songs if you want."

After a moment's hesitation, Gamora began recounting the Skrull incident in more detail. When she was finished, she explained how it had inspired the group to install the lyric-passwords as a safety measure whenever they were separated in action. That led to more anecdotes, mostly about ways their jobs still managed to go wrong… Gamora's voice was tight with the pain she was obviously holding back, but Garthan noticed it softening fondly whenever she described some foolish stunt or other of her teammates'. In fact, the more foolish the stunt, the fonder she seemed to be of the memory. It occurred to Garthan that three days ago Gamora would not have breathed a word of any of this to him. Somehow he doubted that, with her history, a few hours of torture was enough to spark such a change of heart—but then what had caused it? In the past few hours, Gamora had defended him against Kavada and saved him from a potentially disastrous panic attack. Although he'd initially attributed both actions to the fact that Gamora obviously had far more honor than he'd given her credit for when they first met, he had no such explanation for her willingness to share personal stories.

Very suddenly the situation seemed far more intimate than it had before. She trusted him. Garthan felt another surge of frustration at his inability to do anything to make sure Gamora got back to her friends. Other than offering Kavada the transmitter—and Garthan was fairly sure hell would freeze over before Gamora told him where it was—all he could do was hope that Quill and the others came for them soon. He was no use, as always.

Garthan did not realize he had lost the thread of Gamora's narration until she spoke: "Is something wrong?"

"Just thinking how you all make a good team," Garthan said softly, "and how I came blustering in like an idiot thinking I knew everything."

"You did," Gamora said dryly, a touch of color returning to her tone. "I think you infected Peter, too. He's been doing the same thing since we picked you up."

"So he's not always a blustering idiot?" Garthan drawled lightly.

Gamora's response was just as flippant, if a little tired. "Watch it, Saal. We were just starting to get along. And yes, he's always been a blustering idiot, but he's never been self-conscious about it. He use to play to his strengths; lately he keeps trying to concoct impressive plans and do everything himself."

"I'm guessing that's why any time he's not arguing with me, he's arguing with you?"

She huffed. "He's even more stubborn than you are."

Garthan couldn't deny that. Gamora didn't say anything more for a moment, and Garthan was seized with a sudden fear that she'd lost consciousness. "Gamora!"

"What?"

He sighed. Keep her talking. He grasped for a prompt and, surprisingly, remembered his conversation with Quill several days ago. "Ah… How did you all defeat Ronan?"

For a moment Gamora didn't reply. "Saal, I know you're worried I'll pass out on you but I can't think straight enough to tell stories anymore. Certainly not that one."

So much for subterfuge. He should have known not to try and deceive a trained spy. "You have to stay conscious," Garthan told her seriously.

"I know."

Stars, she sounded tired.

Garthan searched for another distraction. Unfortunately, he didn't have much more energy than Gamora. His head was starting to swim slightly and he wondered if Kavada's shocks had affected him more than he'd thought after all. Then he had an idea. "Hey," he said suddenly. " _If you like pinyacaladas and getting caught in the rain—If you're not into yoga, if you have half a brain…_ "

"What are you doing?" Gamora's tone was amusingly similar to the one Garthan had used earlier when their roles had been reversed.

"Your turn," Garthan said.

"Are you alright?" she said incredulously.

"Don't leave me hanging, Gamora," Garthan insisted. " _If you like making love at midnight in the dunes of the cape…_ "

" _Then I'm the lady that you've looked for, write to me and escape._ " The small laugh that escaped Gamora as she completely the verse was completely worth the blow to Garthan's dignity. He would recite every song in Quill's arsenal if it would keep Gamora conscious longer. They traded lines back and forth until the end of the song sparked a debate.

“ _You’re the love that I’ve looked for—_ ”

“No, that’s wrong," Garthan said. "It goes: _You’re the lady I’ve looked for_.”

“No, it’s right. It changes on the last verse.”

“Does it?” Garthan tried to run through the verses again, but in all honesty he was having a hard time focusing.

“Trust me, I have heard this song a million more times than you have. The sounds are different on the last verse."

"Well, I bow to your expertise." Garthan frowned as a meandering thought caught his attention. "What is a pinyacalada, anyway?"

Gamora sounded surprised at the question. "I don't know. It doesn't mean anything more to me than the rest of the song."

"What do you mean?"

"It's all in Terran. All of Peter's songs are—" She stopped. "You can understand them, can't you?"

Obviously the songs were in Terran. Quill had said they were mementos of home. Garthan didn't speak Terran, but there'd been a Novan from Terra many years back—Ryder, or something, never amounted to much—so now it was one of many languages the Nova Force could instantly translate. Garthan frowned at the additional reminder of how often he'd been using the Nova Force without realizing it. "Yes. It's the—"

"Nova Force, I know. Peter will be thrilled." Gamora's voice had been gradually growing fainter and her tone more distracted. "Saal."

"What?"

"I'm sorry I insulted the Nova Corps. It's an honorable institution… and it was cruel to imply it wasn't after you'd lost your place there."

"It's fine." Alarm bells were sounding in Garthan's mind—good things never happened, he knew, after someone started making apologies in that tone—but they were strangely muted. "I certainly shouldn't have thrown Thanos in your face for it."

Garthan knew he should be doing something… helping Gamora. He was supposed to keep her alive until Quill got here. Unfortunately, the world was beginning to swirl together like it did when the implants when completely off the wire. If he passed out now, Garthan thought, maybe he wouldn't wake up once the anti-rejection wore off and things got bad. Maybe he'd just slip right by it into nothingness.

"You were right though… I should have left. Earlier. But I was always frightened. Of doing it alone… It's nice not being alone anymore…"

_No!_ Garthan opened his eyes, blinking immediately at the blinding chaos that greeted him—but it was enough to shake off some of his lethargy. "Gamora? Gamora!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Hiya! Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing and liking this story! I would not be able to finish it without you. In honor of your loyalty, I am taking suggestions for Kavada's fate next chapter. What do yall think she deserves after these last few chapters?
> 
> I have been waiting for this chapter practically since finishing the chase scene with Yondu. I have ruined the Piña Colada song for myself, but having Saal sing was worth it. Also: Bonus reference to Nova Corps canon!
> 
> So dislocating your own shoulder is possible, but it's painful and not recommended, even if you are a cybernetically-enhanced superwoman. Speaking of Gamora, I thought it logical that her body-mods would include both self-repair (as Rocket mentioned way earlier) and advanced healing functions, especially after seeing Nebula get twisted into a pretzel and brush it off during the movie.
> 
> Where Gamora hid Rocket's panic button is unimportant plot-wise; I only refrained from mentioning it so I didn't have to raise the rating.
> 
> For those of you keeping track of the flashbacks, we have reached the end of the "Korel Fiasco"—and hopefully yall have a little bit more insight into why they and Saal dislike each other. What do you think?
> 
> If Saal's inability to use the Nova Force this chapter and last seems slightly convenient, that's because it is—but I do think it entirely reasonable that a semi-intelligent entity like the Nova Force would resist use by anyone in a potentially-irresponsible state. Hence, there is very little addiction amongst Novans, at least to things other than the Nova Force… Wise readers will note that I have added a tag for addiction/recovery onto this story. Big stuff coming, folks.
> 
> On that note, if you are confused about the way the Nova Force works in this universe of mine, please review with questions! It's very important that yall are confused about certain things and not others…


	25. To the Rescue!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardians of the Galaxy are here to kick ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Change of POV here! Folks, I give you… Peter Quill.
> 
> Warnings: violence, blood

"We're catching up. Everyone is in position, Starlord. Let me know when I should turn off the towing stabilizers." The Kree pilot was the only person who actually had any flight experience among the rebels who'd volunteered to help with the rescue mission—and he had just enough experience to know that this plan was completely insane. It hadn't stopped him, however, from bowing gracefully to the wisdom of Starlord and his companions. It was very nice, Peter thought smugly, to be respected.

Peter grinned broadly at him on the communications display. "Watch for Rocket's signal, Jof. Kavada won't know what's up until we're biting her in the ass."

"Hey Groot! You're on seatbelt duty," called Rocket, from beside Peter in the copilot's seat. Rocket looked briefly away from his calculations on the control board and gestured at the team of armed rebels who were going to help them board Kavada's yacht. "Hold on folks, we're about to become the pebble in a sling-shot."

"I am Groot," ze said politely to the rebels, some of whom gasped as ze sprouted a half dozen new shoots and wrapped them all up tightly in zir grasp.

Peter drummed his fingers on his walkman. Despite his outer confidence, he was slightly nervous. Peter was about to pull off a stunt that he was fairly certain had never ever been attempted before—which would have been really cool if Rocket hadn't helpfully reassured Peter that if it didn't work, "we'll blow up instantly, so it's fine." It was on the same level of crazy as Saal's stupid trick in the asteroid belt, and Peter was the only pilot in their ragtag group with the skill to pull it off.

The captains of the other two retrofitted galleys reported in. They were managing better than expected, for first-time spacers—Peter had to admit, the rebels were a scrappy bunch. Peter did not fail to notice the flirting tone the shorter captain used. In any other circumstance Peter would definitely be trying to capitalize on such an attractive opportunity, but contrary to what Gamora always said, Peter didn't think about sex every second of the day. Just every second that he wasn't worried his friends were dead.

"They're gonna be alright. Right?" he murmured to Rocket.

Rocket did not look up from the controls. "If you ask that one more time, I'm gonna kill ya. Calm down and let me focus on not ripping the ship in half."

Peter deflated slightly. After a moment, Rocket muttered, more to himself than to Peter: "They're gonna be fine."

The proximity notification appeared on Peter's view screen at the same time Jof called to let them know they were in range of Kavada's yacht: "Ninety seconds until contact. We're directly behind Kavada."

"Time to dance, Quill." Rocket picked out one of his diagrams from the view screen and blew it up—a scan of Kavada's ship, with a square section marked in blue. "Ya gotta put the Admantine exactly in that box or the magnet fields won't sync up and we'll overshoot the ship entirely. There's only a half second window for me to latch onto it."

Peter nodded. "Got it."

"Jof, cut the stabilizers," Rocket said.

Since the rebels had no access to the fancy new parts the Admantine's broken fusion core needed, Jof's ship had been towing them all the way from Sertili Seven. At Rocket's signal, Jof shut down the safety stabilizers that forced the trailing Admantine to following his ship's path exactly. The difference was immediately tangible as Peter felt the Admantine jerk left and then list slowly down-right, like a kite caught tethered in the wind. Peter immediately seized the controls and corrected as best he could, struggling to keep the Admantine's path lined up with the box Rocket had outlined. Set behind the diagram on the view screen, the real image of Kavada's ship zoomed towards the Admantine at a speed that was much more frightening when Peter couldn't use the primary thrusters to control it. With the fusion core out of commission, Peter had to rely on auxiliary power and the weak secondary thrusters.

As planned, Jof swerved upwards and hit the breaks hard all the way to a full stop, getting out of the Admantine's way without knocking her off her near-collision course with Kavada's yacht. Peter held his breath as they rushed towards it, making sure to stay within the target box. The view screen's proximity monitor counted down the seconds to what would either be a brilliant stunt or a very nasty collision.

The Admantine zoomed right under the belly of Kavada's slightly-bigger yacht. Their hulls were only a hundred meters apart. Rocket burst into action next to Peter, hands dancing over the controls. Peter winced as a massive electric whine reverberated around the whole ship. Since neither the Admantine nor the galleys had any lock-beams with which to capture Kavada's ship, Rocket had decided to recycle their useless fusion core for the job. As far a Peter understood it, Rocket had somehow reversed the magnetic alignment of the fusion core, which apparently ruined it for any flight-related purpose whatsoever. [To be quite honest, Peter did not always understand or listen very closely to Rocket's engineering explanations, but this time he'd had to know what was going on in order to convince the rebels it would work.] However, the reversed core still created the same massive magnetic force as before—but now it would be the metaphorical south-pole magnet to the standard north-pole one on Kavada's ship. Judging from Rocket's smug grin, the plan had worked: they were stuck snugly to the underside of Kavada's ship.

"Alright, Jof! Pull back!" Rocket ordered.

The Admantine jerked violently as Jof's galley, still tethered to the Admantine, reversed direction. Despite the lack of adequate weapons, armor or maneuverability, the galleys did have the advantage of size. Within a minute the Admantine—and the yacht—shuddered to a stop, although the towing tether creaked dramatically. The two other galleys, Peter knew, would be pulling around in front of Kavada, their outdated plasma cannons buffed up to look much stronger that they were and very prominently displayed.

After a moment of tentative silence in which nothing disastrous happened, Peter let out the breath he'd been holding. They'd done it! He caught Rocket's eye and grinned. "That was a good plan."

Rocket preened. "Yeah, I know."

Behind them, Drax unlooped himself from Groot's 'seatbelt' and clapped the backs of their chairs proudly. "Well done, friends. Half the battle is won. Our companions will be proud. Now let us go forth and rescue them."

Peter sat back from the pilot's controls and hailed Jof and the other captains with the good news, adding: "Get ready for part two." As Peter spoke, Drax was already directing the team of rebels to the Admantine's airlock for the next phase of the plan and Rocket was hailing Kavada.

She answered almost immediately. "What do you fools think you are doing!"

Peter grinned sweetly at her. "Kavada, babe, how's it hanging? Miss me?"

Kavada's glare could have melted steel. "Remove your vile craft from my hull and I will consider not blowing you all to pieces."

Peter kept smiling as he shot her threat right back at her. "Hand over Saal and Gamora and I'll consider not dragging you all the way back to Xandar."

She scoffed, and leaned closer to her view screen. "You don't understand who you're dealing with, do you? I am one of Lord Onchi's inner circle. I rule an entire planet with his blessing." Her voice dripped with entitlement. "If you think that a handful of antique galleys and a defective destroyer will scare me into releasing my prisoners, then you are sorely mistaken."

"Well that sucks for you, because my ship is stuck to yours like an STD until you do. Oh and that planet of yours?"—Peter smirked—"Hate to break it to you, but it had a small change of leadership while you were gone. Remember all those pink Kree you were enslaving? They're in charge now." It was deliciously true, and the look on Kavada's face almost made up for the fact that Groot's idea of stopping to help the rebels overthrow Kavada's little monarchy had cost Gamora and Saal over twenty hours in her clutches. It had been a distressing but unavoidable delay. He gave her a moment to glower, then added, just to rub salt in the wound: "So I wouldn't expect any help from home if I were you."

Kavada looked furious, but apparently that made her no less calculating. Peter could see her expression shift back from enraged to smug as she rolled out a chilling threat: "You're awfully brash for someone whose companions are completely at my mercy. I could kill them both before you could so much as lift a finger to stop me."

Peter's fake smile disappeared. He looked Kavada in the eye, glaring at her with eyes that had seen infinity, and said, "If you touch them, I will end you."

Kavada blinked several times, and seemed about to say something, but then abruptly turned to someone offscreen, like someone else had called her. When she turned back a moment later, she was all anger again. "You're trying to board!" she said incredulously.

Peter let his tone grow flippant again but he didn't smile. "It's called a distraction, turdface. See you soon." He cut the video connection and then tapped through the controls to connect the audio to the ship's tape player. Time for some fight music. Peter regretted not being able to stay and see Kavada's face when she realized that Rocket had hacked both her communications array and her intercom, so that the songs played throughout the whole damn ship. Peter turned to the young rebel who had taken Rocket's place in the copilot's seat; they were tasked with watching the Admantine and coordinating communications with the galleys. "Mahswera, right? If the music stops, take this out, turn it around, put it back in. Press play. Cool?"

They nodded vigorously. Peter gave them a thumbs up, grabbed his blasters, and went to meet Rocket and the others at the airlock, where they drilling a door through the hull of Kavada's ship with a modified laser cannon. Drax was shouldering the heavy machine when he arrived; a blood-red trail of burnt-through metal showed that he was nearly done.

"About thirty seconds," Rocket told him.

"Alright everybody, prepare to be shot at," Peter said. "Groot, give us some cover."

The rebels readied their arms and Groot lumbered to the front of the group with Rocket poised on his shoulder. Drax completed the circular door, set aside the laser cannon, and then kicked in the door.

Peter grinned as Cherry Bomb greeted them at full volume over the yacht's intercom. Almost instantly following it was the sound of blaster-fire—but not as much of it as there would have been had Kavada had enough warning to plant an ambush. Groot threw out both arms and grew them into a tangled shield of living wood. Ze pushed forward, and the rebels poured into Kavada's ship behind zir. Peter only got one shot in before the dozen Kree soldiers were all dead.

"Alright, two of you with Drax, two of you with me and the last two with Rocket and—"

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be on the galley with Jof!"

Peter peered through the group at the rebel who had interrupted him and had to repressed a sigh. It was Kaufi, one of the only battle-experienced rebels in the group and also one of the few who had initially voted against the rescue, convinced it was too risky. She had a death grip on the arm of another rebel and was scolding her furiously. Actually, now that Peter thought about it, the second rebel was hardly old enough to qualify as one, younger even than the one watching the cockpit. He'd met her before and she'd blushed and stammered while introducing herself. [Was Peter enjoying fame? Yes, yes he was.] Her name was… Charli? Charni?

"What's the use of coming if I'm stuck in the ship the whole time? Mahswera was happy to trade. I want to see Kavada dead as much as you do."

"No! It is enough that you came on this fool's errand without my permission. You are going to get yourself killed looking for revenge. Now—"

"Ladies, we don't have time for a cat fight," Peter interrupted. Kaufi looked ready to turn her wrath on him; he cut in quickly before she could. "Look, you're a fighter too, you know we only have the advantage of surprise for so long."

Kaufi scowled at him and Peter wondered if high-tempers were a Kree trait he'd been unaware of or just one specific to this region. "Fine," she growled. "Charni, you're staying with me, and we're both going with Starlord, since I know you'll actually listen to him."

Peter glanced from Charni wide-eyed admiration to Kaufi's grim disapproval. "That's… great. If we could get moving?"

The other rebels paired up with either Rocket and Groot or Drax and they set off in different directions, taking down Kavada's soldiers as they went. Peter kept his group with Drax's until they hit a fork. Before they split up, Peter pulled Drax aside.

"Hey man, remember to stay cool, okay? Focus, chill. No going crazy on us." Drax had a tendency, during stressful missions, to slip back into 'Destroyer' mode and fall prey to some serious overkill—and with Gamora and Saal in danger, this mission was nothing if not stressful. Peter had meant to give Drax a pep talk before, but there'd been no time.

Drax frowned. "I will endeavor to keep my temper under control, my friend, but I still fail to see what temperature has to do with it."

Peter shook his head with a grin. He'd been teaching Drax, slowly, to understand slang. "I'll explain later. After everyone is safe and…" Peter's grin faded as his chest tightened with sudden worry. How much damage had Kavada managed to do to Gamora and Saal in twenty-six hours?

Drax put a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Do not fear for our companions. They are strong, and we will find them soon."

"Thanks, Drax."

Peter took off down the left corridor with Kaufi and Charni, checking around each corner for Kavada's thugs and in each room for Saal and Gamora. Charni stayed nearly in step with Peter, almost getting underfoot with her eagerness, while Kaufi watched their backs and shot Peter the occasional eye-roll.

"Starlord, can I ask you a question?" Charni said tentatively.

Peter didn't pause as he stepped cautiously into the chamber whose door Charni had just forced with a handy gadget for the door-lock. "Sure, shoot. I mean, yes."

"You really did do all those things they say? You and the Guardians? It's not just propaganda like Lady Kavad—I mean, Kavada says?"

Peter considered whether the word 'all' included the good and bad shenanigans he and the others had gotten or were rumored to have gotten up to (the rumors amounted to considerably more than the actual deeds), and then said: "Yeah, all the heroic things, yeah. All of it's definitely true. Except the illegal stuff. That's exaggerated."

A glance around the dim cargo room showed it was empty. Peter was turning to leave when a blaster bolt ripped terrifying close by his face and into the door frame behind him. Half a second later, before Peter could even react to the first one, a second whizzed by.

A weedy-looking Kree lay dead on the floor with a blaster gun beside him. Peter squinted through the shadows and realized he'd been hiding in a niche Peter had missed when checking the room.

"It is so cool to be able to fight with you!" Charni still had her gun up; she was looking at Peter with bright eyes and a smile far too innocent for someone who had just killed someone and saved Peter's life.

Peter reassessed his estimate of the young Kree woman. A girl with lightning fast reflexes who also thought he'd put the stars in the sky? Now that was a tempting catch. One look at Kaufi's raised eyebrow and pursed lips, however, disabused Peter of any ambitions he had towards her protege. Peter was still trying to send nonverbal don't-kill-me-I-won't-hit-on-her-I-promise signals to Kaufi when he realized Charni had asked him another question.

"What?"

"So how did you defeat Ronan the Accuser?"

Peter blanched, just like he did whenever anybody brought up the subject. He didn't like to think about the end of the battle, about grabbing the infinity orb, about the unbearable lonely immensity it had poured into him or the way his vision had zoomed past the borders of the universe and into a place he couldn't describe but couldn't stop seeing in his nightmares. He didn't like to think about how that one simple act had thrust him from his comfortable role as a dashing desperado with no expectations to live up to—into one as somebody people expected to do good things and save people and get things right on a regular basis. He didn't like to think about how bright purple objects like the cords braided into Charni's hair made his heart seize up when he saw them out of the corner of his eye.

"Umm… we don't really have time to get into that right now."

Charni nodded, unperturbed. "Right. To the rescue!" She bounded out of the chamber.

Peter thought he saw Kaufi expression change briefly from distaste to calculation, so be busied himself with striding after Charni and trying to look as peppy as she did. He was almost sure he'd managed it when they abruptly happened upon a large knot of soldiers guarding a single door. Peter shared a glance with Kaufi and knew she'd come to the same conclusion he had: either Kavada had abandoned the bridge and holed up here, or her hostages were behind this door. Peter commed Rocket and Drax to warn them, and then he, Kaufi and Charni descended on the soldiers like vengeful meteors. The soldiers didn't have a chance. Kaufi got the door before Peter could; he saw her eyes widen and knew with sinking feeling in his stomach that they had found the right door. He pushed past her, barely registering her order to Charni to keep watch outside.

Seeing Gamora and Saal again was a relief so intense it felt like a zero-gee sauna, but it didn't last longer than the second it took to realize they were in bad shape. Gamora's hair, spilling across her face as her head hung limp, was an intense splash of color in the stark chrome and white cell—and so was the blood covering Saal. Yeesh, he looked like a paint splatter. Peter felt his breath hitch but forced himself to stay calm. He couldn't afford to freak out or fuck up right now.

"Rocket, we got them," Peter told his comm. "Get here ASAP." He glanced at Kaufi, who had already gotten out their medpac and was gingerly brushing Gamora's hair away from her face to reveal large purple bruises.

"She's breathing fine, these bruises are everywhere though, and… yeah I don't like the angle on that arm. She's dislocated it—trying to escape if the condition of the chair is anything to go by. She's got a cybernetic kit, you said? I don't know first aid for that."

"Rocket will take care of it," Peter said, already inspecting Saal. He was unconscious like Gamora, but seemed unnaturally tense, fitful, like he had during the little fiasco on Volta Six. Rocket had said they'd be cutting it close with his meds… That was another thing they would have to leave to Rocket. Peter's gaze leapt from the large bloodstain across one shoulder to the IV line leading back to Gamora, putting the pieces together. So Saal was not the one potentially bleeding out, then. "Get that needle off of her, and then see if there's anything about these chairs to stop us letting them out."

Oh man, oh man, oh man... Peter's finger tapped rapidly on the empty tape player strapped to his hip. Right now the cassette was on the Admantine, blaring away Spirit in the Sky as a fuck-you to Kavada, but having even just the player with him always made it easier to concentrate. Peter wished there was something he could do; he felt so helpless seeing two of his crew so broken and still. Rocket was on his way, Peter told himself. Rocket, who whistled cheerfully while he built bombs but swore steadily anytime he had to work with cybernetics—but who did it anyway, pretending it didn't bother him, anytime Gamora (or recently Saal) needed a medic.

Peter's comm suddenly chirped and Drax reported in: Kavada was holed up on the bridge, refusing to negotiate. "Should I persuade her?" Drax inquired.

Peter cringed and regretted, and not for the first time, ever teaching Drax the …alternate… definition of 'persuade'. "No, Drax, I'll be right there. You head to my position and give Rocket any help he needs, okay?"

"Understood."

Peter hesitated before leaving. He was partly glad to be needed somewhere he could actually do some good, but he was torn about leaving Gamora and Saal alone. What if they woke up? The two of them would freak out, probably attack someone. Or what if something else went wrong?

No—Rocket was just a minute away. The rebels had control of the ship; there would be no surprises. Kavada, however, could still do damage, so he needed to deal with her now. Deciding, he turned to Kaufi. "If Gamora wakes up before Rocket gets here, back the hell up because she'll probably try and kill you. If Saal does, kill the lights and be as quiet as you can. And don't touch him."

Kaufi blinked at the odd instructions but nodded firmly. Peter gave her and Charni a quite salute before stepping back out into the corridor. A growl found its way to the base of his throat as he stalked towards the bridge. "Kavada, you have got a lot to answer for."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Sorry for the looooong delay. The PTSD is strong lately, folks, so I have had trouble writing. But you know what? The new movie has revitalized the fandom so I am getting more lovely reviews to inspire me! Thank you so much!
> 
> So this chapter is long af but the narration is pretty brisk, right? This is due to the POV change: Saal and Peter differ greatly in levels of broodiness, depression and introspection.
> 
> I made Drax a berserker because I thought it fit his character and why not? Thoughts?


End file.
